Claymore
by gallery
Summary: A novelization of the Claymore manga.
1. The Silver-Eyed Slayer

scene I

**SILVER-EYED SLAYER**

Men, women, and their children stood gathered around the mutilated body in the middle of the village road. The victim had been split open at the chest and it's cavities emptied. Everyone remained standing back from the wide pool of blood that had spread out from the corpse. Even the stray splatters were avoided, as if the blood were now considered poison. Horrified whispers made the air buzz with fear.

"This is the sixth one."

"Damn it! The last one was just three days ago."

"What'll we do? At this rate..."

It was too obvious and painful to state: the village could be wiped out. Picked off one after the other, down to the last child. It was universal knowledge that yoma diet was exclusively humans. Their cruelty and disdain for humans came second to a yoma's voracious hunger for fresh guts. It was an unimaginable way to die, ripped open and feasted on while still squirming, yet the yoma's victims could expect nothing less.

"There's no doubt about it," The men said grimly to each other, "if we don't do something, we're _finished_!"

The men gathered at the village chief's home, crowding the room with their lean, anxious faces. The air was hot and stuffy but they still dressed in the tunics and long pants of their livelihood. To prevent dirt and sand from working their way under their clothes when digging in the mines, sashes were tied around their ankles and boots and around their waists to insure that their shirts remained tucked into the waistbands of their pants. The sheen of sweat on their skin, along toned arms accustomed to swinging picks and faces that had been browned by years toiled in the sun, could not be attributed to heat alone. Their sweat was cold, distinguishing their fear. "What'll we do, chief? That's the sixth one!"

"If we just sit here and wait, we'll all be butchered!"

"They eat your guts while you're still alive!"

Fear gripped their voices. The horror stories of yoma encounters reached villages far more remote than their own. The tales were as countless as they were gruesome. There was no safe haven in the world from the demonic race of yoma. Man's struggle to survive and surmount their role as prey went beyond their recorded history.

One young man, only recently emerged from boyhood, disrupted the rising panic in the room by firmly slamming his hand down on the chief's table with a resounding _wham_. "So, what are we supposed to do!" His hazel eyes were bright with frustration. "Once they take human form, it's practically impossible for us to spot them! Are you saying we should just round up suspicious-looking characters!"

The men appeared uneasy at this reminder; human senses were too dull, too primitive, to ascertain yoma from humankind once a monster had assumed the appearance of one of their own. No, they needed the hulking bodies, blazing gold eyes, and sharp teeth characteristic of yoma to tell them who the predator was.

"Calm down, Zaki."

Zaki, the young man who had outburst, looked over his shoulder in surprise at the chief. The chief was an old man who had seen many winters. Zaki thought he should have had something to say from the wisdom of long-life before now. But it was only now that he chose to speak. For someone who was the leader of a whole village and was of the eldest generation, the chief had a face that belied his years, although he'd lost his hair on top. But in recent days lines of worry were creasing his face, bracketing his mouth like two weights that would never let him smile until his village had peace again.

"But Chief..." Zaki obivously had a lot more of his opinion to give. But the chief produced a slip of paper and placed it on the table. Zaki's dark eyebrows rose while several men gaze questioningly at the document.

"We received a reply to our letter," The chief said calmly. "It seems they're sending one to our village." Judging by their expressions, the general consensus in the room appeared to be: _huh? _The chief's face, whose pleasant smile used to show so often before these attacks, darkened. He said with no relish, "A Claymore, that is." The resulting gasp of the men was audible, leaving nothing behind but a heavy, suspended silence.

"A... A Claymore?"

"Are you serious?"

"You want to hire one of _them_?" Tones were mixed with incredulous disbelief, fear and apprehension. Like yoma, tales of Silver-Eyed Witches pass like wildfire over the continent. Not human, Claymore had as much right to their trust as yoma did.

The chief's shoulders remained slumped, as if defeated by his own action. "Yes. We have no choice." He responded to their disapproval wearily. To already lose six lives in his village was a terrible burden. The chief had known each one of the victims' names; as their leader, this felt like a personal loss. The father or sons of the six dead were standing in that very room with him. With no sign of the killing coming to an end, what else could be done? Nothing within their own power. The village did not have the leisure of time to debate it. This was the joyless responsibility of the chief to respond accordingly. "They are the only ones who can detect a monster in human form." The chief explained, still in possession of his calm.

"But... But Chief, I..." Zaki still wrestled with the prospect but the chief was firm.

"Don't argue with me. I know it will cost us a great deal. But the way things are, the fate of the village is at stake." The old man steepled his fingers together and leaned his elbows on the table as if the weight on his shoulders had become heavier. "Either way, it's dangerous. And we can't go on living like this. The sooner we act, the better." Although it pleased no one, not even the chief, everyone had to finally admit that the situation was dire enough to warrant hiring a Silver-Eyed Slayer. The village could not become a banquet for yoma! In this world where humans struggled to exist, each human life was valuable.

Though Zaki's apprehension showed outwardly, and no less than the other men, the discussion was clearly over. Unease clung to his features, hazing his olive complexion. The seedlings of rumors being muttered by the other men who flowed out of the chief's house and onto the street barely registered.

"A Claymore, eh? They give me the creeps."

"Have you ever seen one?"

"Yeah, once."

"Hey, Zaki!"

Startled from his thoughts, Zaki looked up to see his little brother, Raki, loitering outside the chief's home. Zaki guessed his nosy brother had been there for the duration of the meeting.

"What are they?" Raki blurted, "What's a Claymore?"

Looking into Raki's face was like peering into a mirror that showed you the past, Zaki thought. Both boys had that same olive complexion, disheveled brown hair, lean, wiry bodies and hazel eyes. But Zaki had never earned a scar. That was what disrupted their similarities. Raki's was right beside the right eyebrow, distinct but no longer than his own little finger.

"Raki... were you spying on us?" Zaki pushed aside Raki's question.

"No! I was just passing by. I heard through the window."

Zaki was far from convinced. "Oh, is that so? You'd have to be glued to the chief's window to hear his voice."

"It's true!" Raki insisted, "I was playing behind the house when I heard you all talking. You were pretty loud."

In the pause where Zaki reconsidered if this was the truth, Raki launched his question again. That kid was always too bold for his own good! "So, what's a Claymore?" He persisted, "Could it take down a yoma?"

Zaki huffed in irritation. But he knew his brother wouldn't relent until his curiosity had been sated. So as the brothers began their walk home he divulged, "Yes. Humans created them to fight against the monsters. They belong to an organization called Claymore. They earn a living killing yoma for anyone who'll pay the fee. They're the only humans in the world capable of fighting the creatures."

"Hmm..." Raki watched the dust rise under his feet as they walked the long, narrow street. "They must be tough."

"Well... They aren't exactly human."

Raki perked. He hadn't expect his brother to know so much. Or, rather, that there was so much he didn't know about how the world operated. What else was out there, past the mines?

"They've taken the flesh and blood of yoma into their own bodies." Zaki continued, his eyes fixed someplace beyond Doga village. "By making themselves half human and half monster, they're strong enough to fight the creatures."

A bead of sweat clung to his brother's jaw but Raki didn't notice just how nervous Zaki appeared. Raki was preoccupied ingesting these facts, considering that it seemed justifiable why people didn't welcome Claymore. "What? I, I don't believe it. Really?" Raki focused: humans made Claymore. It seemed impossible to do, beyond human reach! Yet Claymores existed.

"What's more," Zaki continued, "after a lot of testing, they've found that only females adapt successfully. They say every male who has tried it died a horrible death."

Their walk had come to a stand-still but neither seemed to either notice, engrossed as each were. "Since Claymores are almost monsters themselves, they can spot disguised yoma with their silver eyes. When Claymores are about to slay a yoma, their eyes shine gold, just like the monsters'. In any case, they're called Silver-Eyed Witches, or Silver-Eyed Slayers."

"She's here!" Voices shouted.

"It's the Claymore! The Silver-Eyed Witch!"

Raki's awed expression was rattled loose. The irresistible urge to follow the others running to the end of the village road claimed him suddenly and with zeal, and he left his brother behind, calling for him to wait.

It was a beautiful day. Not clear exactly; there were clouds that dragged their shadows along the ground as they scudded across the deep blue sky. Raki sometimes wondered if the sky was anything like the sea, something he only knew as words from the mouths of travelers. The air was humid with mid-summer and baked by the sun. It didn't seem appropriate weather to usher in a half-monster warrior. Something dark and foreboding sounded more appropriate. But there she was. Dressed head to toe in armor and a pale cloak, with a Claymore nearly as tall as she was hanging from her back. A real Claymore! She stood completely still, as if daring anyone to approach her.

Raki wormed his way to the front of the crowd before he was awestruck. She really did have silver eyes. And short, pale hair. Blond, almost. By the name _witch_ you wouldn't think that Claymores could be beautiful. But this one had a beauty that would haunt his dreams.

"She's scary." The crowd murmured.

"So that's a Silver-Eyed Witch. She's just like the rumors say."

"They look frail but they carry huge swords."

"I've heard that people started calling them Claymores after their swords."

As Raki gazed on, he saw that the Claymore didn't deviate from her one spot. She stood there as if letting the gawking village people have their fill of her. It was as if she had expected to be stared at like this. Raki guessed, what with rumors far proceeding them, that this treatment could be normal for a Claymore. Even Raki couldn't help himself; he found himself studying her, taking in her foreign-looking armor. She seemed to be wearing a single skin-tight garment beneath the sabaton and greaves, with fingerless gauntlets and vambraces, shoulder-plates and what Raki could only equate to a pleated form of fauld around her waist. He didn't know how anyone could go up against a yoma without heavier protection than this. And that claymore was a two-handed sword, judging by it's long handle and heavy five foot blade. Could she really swing it?

"Is this really a good idea?" Others making up the crowd echoed Raki's doubts aloud.

"How do we know she won't turn on us? She's half monster, after all."

"Why did the chief call for such a...?"

The voices of his neighbors and kinsmen shrank to a buzz. There were only silver eyes.

"We've got no choice. The only one that can spot a yoma in human form is someone who's part yoma. We have to trust her, even if she is a monster."

The Claymore stepped forward. She headed straight for the crowd that still stood at the mouth of the village entrance, both surprising and alarming them. The crowd hastily parted for her, giving the Claymore generous room to pass. No one spoke then. The only sound you could hear were the heavy steps of the Claymore's steel shoes. Still not having uttered a single word, the Claymore went deeper into the village.

"You... You idiot!" One boy had two fistful of his friend's shirt in his hands. "What did you go and say that for? What if she get angry and comes after us?"

The boy who had called the Claymore _monster_ a bit too loudly only fumbled his apology. No one could be too careful. Now there were _two_ monsters in the village.

The Claymore had gone directly to the chief's home.

"Ah... I've been waiting for you." The chief greeted, more apt to speak with the Silver-Eyed Slayer he had leased, though no less nervous than anyone else to be in her presence. "Well, then," He hastened matters, "let's get down to it. You, there!" He instructed a servant, "Get it."

The housekeeper returned with the heavy load of a bag that clinked as she shifted it in her arms. She passed the bag to the chief, who presented it on the table. "H-Here's the money we promised," He tried to smile, "It's all here. Please see for yourself..."

"Not yet."

"Huh?"

"After the job is done, someone will be sent to collect the money. You will give it to him then." The Claymore's eyes bore into him. "If I get killed... there'll be no reason to pay."

The chief shivered; it was like she had locked her cold stare onto his very soul. "Oh... I, uh... I... I see..." He stammered, unable to shed an ominous feeling that seemed to emanate from the Witch. He rose out of his chair, his hands leaning on the table. "So then... what happens now? Will it be easy finding it?"

"That depends," The Claymore promptly answered, "If the monster has suppressed it's monster aura enough, it'll be hard to detect." She turned to leave. "But don't worry, I'll sniff it out. Eventually, one of us will lie dead somewhere in the village."

When the door slammed shut behind her, the old man slumped to the floor as if the only thing that had kept him standing was the tension drawn taught by her presence. Alarmed, the servant rushed to his side. "Chief!"

"That took a few years off my life." The chief wheezed.

"Are you all right?" The woman worried, helping him up.

"It was even scarier than I expected," He further uttered, as if he didn't hear, "I thought she'd be more human. But I felt... like I was facing a monster."

Standing in the midst of the village the Claymore concentrated on sensing the yoma's aura, acting oblivious to the looks of the villages who ushered their children into the safety of their homes or stared at her outright in fascination and fear. As she walked Doga's few streets, more people disappeared from them, thinking, rightfully, it would be unwise to find themselves in the Witch's way.

The scent of yoma suddenly crashed against her senses and the Claymore's placid silver eyes appeared to soak up the golden sunset; even her pupils altered, losing their humans aspect and becoming slit's instead. Faster than any human could hope to move, the Silver-Eyed Slayer freed the claymore from the sheath between her shoulders and whipped around to confront her foe.

"Agh!" Raki yelled.

The blade sliced the air but came to a full controlled stop before it landed a scratch on the human boy. But it hovered so close to Raki's face that the sword cast a shadow over his eyes, which remained wide and unblinking. Surprise was neatly hidden within the Claymore's own features, her eyes resuming their silver shine.

Raki took a step back. "What was that for?" He whined, hurt by her reaction. "I wasn't doing anything wrong! I was just following you, that's all."

The Claymore's gaze lingered on him while she replaced her claymore in it's sheath. Then she wordlessly turned away from him and continued on her hunt.

"H-hey!" Raki called, following after her. That Claymore had a swift stride! "You're a Claymore, aren't you?"

"No." She served up bluntly.

"Huh?" Raki thought if she wasn't then his brother had his facts twisted!

"Our organization has no name. Your people thrust that name upon us."

"Oh... I see."

"Still, I can't believe it." Raki gushed, "You look like an ordinary girl. I guess I thought... you'd be big and scary." Zaki did say Claymore were half-monster after all.

The Claymore paused and turned partway to look down at him. Raki decided she must be taller than Zaki. Himself, he barely came even with her shoulders. But Raki reminded himself that he still had a few years of growing and he had promised himself to get tall!

"You're not afraid of me?" She suddenly asked.

"Huh?" Raki didn't hesitate: "No, not at all. You're just like an ordinary girl." Raki didn't see what the big deal was. Claymore didn't look anything like yoma. "Actually, you're not so ordinary," He corrected himself, a blush heating his cheeks, "You're prettier than the girls around here." He laughed a bit bashfully.

The Claymore seemed to instantly lose interest in talking. She resumed her pace striding down the street. "Ah! Hey, wait! I didn't..." This was the wrong person to put his foot in his mouth around! Was it that painfully obvious that he didn't talk to many girls? Raki thought he probably offended her.

Feeling bad about that possibility, Raki decided to follow after her and apologize. As a stranger, she could probably use some direction around the village too. But by the time he caught up to her, Raki found himself out of breath. "Where are you going?" He huffed, struggling to keep his lungs filled with air. "That leads out of the village!"

"This is the edge of the village?" The Claymore ascertained, noticing the small black shadows dotting the crumbling mountains that ridged the horizon.

Raki leaned his hands on his knees, his breathing evening out. "Yes. Beyond here are just the mines."

A sudden _thwock_ caught Raki off-guard and as the Claymore threw herself down onto the ground to lean her back against her sword – which he realized had been stabbed into the ground – Raki gave a little jump. "What the...?" He froze with an arm raised in surprise.

"Rest time." She explained, crossing her arms and closing her eyes. "I've been walking for three days."

Raki's face dawned with comprehension. She must have amazing endurance! He looked left, then right, finding the perfect-sized stick lying nearby. He stabbed it into the ground in the same fashion as she and joined the Silver-Eyed Slayer in resting. "Heh heh heh," The boy chortled, leaning his back against the stick with a wooden creak. The Claymore only stared at him. She seemed to be considering something.

"What is it?" She finally asked. "Why are you so interested in me?"

"Well, you _are_ a Claymore." Raki pointed out.

"Like I said," She reminded him, apparently stubborn about the point, "You picked that name."

"Oh... right." But Raki didn't miss a second beat, "Anyway, you came here to kill the yoma, right? That means you're the one who'll grant my wish."

Understanding seemed to visit the Claymore at his statement. It settled fully after he confessed, "The first people to be killed by the monster in this village... were my parents."

The Claymore's eyes widened just perceptively.

"I was there, but I couldn't do anything. Before I knew it, only my brother and I were left alive. We were covered in blood. If I was strong enough, I could avenge my parents. Now, you're the one who's going to kill it for me." Gradually, Raki's voice had lost it's innocence and now seethed with hatred for the yoma.

The Claymore watched the display impassively. "I'm only doing this because we got a request. I'm not doing it so you can get revenge."

Raki's mood reverted and he said, almost cheerily as he laced his fingers behind his mop of hair, "I know. That's just as good."

Without him having noticed it, the archways and alleys had been filled with shadows and the late afternoon had burned on into a red evening. "Ah!" He spooked as the village bell began to gong. "Oh, no!" Realizing he'd lost track of the hours, Raki quickly got to his feet. "Sorry, I've got to go. I have to fix dinner for everyone." He explained as though he worried what the Claymore thought of this abrupt departure. "We're staying at my uncle's house now, so we have to help out." He turned to leave and even took a few steps. "Oh." Realizing he had never introduced himself, the boy turned back around. "My name's Raki. What's yours?"

The Claymore didn't even look at him. "You don't need to know my name," She answered firmly, "You'll forget it soon enough."

_Eh?_ Raki thought that was strange. Guess Claymore aren't known for being friendly. But he had no time to stick around and wheeled a name out of her. Raki ran all the way home to his Uncle's abode. Bursting in through the front door, he called breathlessly, "S-Sorry I'm late, Uncle! I'll start making dinner right away!" Since he had stayed out so late, everyone was probably already starving because of him. "I'll be done in just a..."

That's when he noticed his Uncle lying on the floor in front of him, face-down in a spray of blood. Not moving. "U... Uncle?" Raki felt rooted to the spot, shocked.

"You're back..."

"Za... Zaki!" He hadn't even heard his brother approach behind him! Raki turned, exclaiming, "It's Uncle! He's –" No, something was wrong. Zaki's face was grotesque and smeared with blood. He wore a grin that showed pointed teeth. And his eyes... they belonged to a monster.

"Yes... he's delicious." Zaki cackled. "His guts were superb!"

"Za... Zaki...?" It wouldn't sink in. It was too much. How _could_ it be...?

"It was tough, pretending to be human, with you around looking so tasty." Veins popped to the surface of Zaka's skin, throbbing. His arms and legs lengthened; his shoulders hunch as he grew taller. Zaki began to take on a whole different_presence_, as if he was suffusing the air around him with dread. "But you never noticed, did you? Your own brother... When I ate your parents, I also took over your brother's body and mind. Because of that, I was able to use his memories and his behavior patterns. That's why you stupid humans couldn't find me." Zaki delighted in explaining, in drawing out the pain. Yoma found it very useful to look human; hunting became easy when they could blend in. Preying on a human settlement became even easier if they ate the brains of who they were impersonating. By eating the brains, they learned their victim's memories.

But this thing wasn't Zaki, not anymore, not _ever_... this thing had _killed_ Zaki. And Uncle. And mother and father.

The ridges of the yoma's vertebra pushed against it's skin as the tight confines of Zaki's shirt was reduced to shreds. Was this transformation painful for yoma? Tears had begun to coalesce beneath it's wicked, golden eyes. "I was planning to stay in this village a little longer. But seeing that you've summoned that witch... I'll just devour you before I move on. She can roam here all she wants after I'm gone." The yoma's shadow swallowed Raki, who found himself unable to move, unable to respond.

"Huh?" The yoma paused, finally aware of the tears that had begun to course down it's bruise-colored face.

Raki realized them too.

"Tears..." The yoma puzzled, "It seems what's left of your brother is shedding tears." The monster's dark lips curled back cruelly. "Sweet, isn't it? Heh."

Finally everything _did_ sink in. And Raki felt rage. He raised a fist and moved to close the distance between them, releasing a strangled cry of hatred. He would make this murderer _pay_!

But the yoma easily deflected him, causing Raki to hit the floor with enough force to rattle the air from his lungs and make his teeth cut the inside of his cheek. "Uh-guh," He tasted blood; it dripped from the corner of his mouth and onto the floor while he lay on his stomach. That yoma had batted him away like a pesky fly...

"Fool!" The yoma bellowed, "Did you think a mere human could stand against a yoma? We have lived among you since ancient times. You exist only as our food." It gloated, "We're the foremost predators alive, and you are our prey. Prey is in no position to fight back against predator."

As the gravity of the monster's words set in, the roof exploded over them. As chunks of wooden beams rained down, the Claymore was already in position to strike.

It happened so quickly it was all the yoma could do to avoid it by throwing it'self backward. The double-edged sword hit the floor with such force that it broke apart the stone foundation beneath. Even Raki was too shocked by the suddenness of the Claymore's appearance to cry out. The yoma recovered much more quickly. "The... the witch!" It sputtered, crouched with it's every nail and claw dug into the floor for balance.

"The boy carried the scent of yoma." The Claymore revealed, "All I had to do was follow him." So that explained why she almost attacked me earlier, Raki realized. When she had swung her sword at him, when her eyes changed, that was when she smelled...

"It's you!" Raki cried jubilantly, the thought of rescue replacing all other emotions.

But then he stopped short.

Her eyes had changed again. But her face too, in a way. It seemed darker. As if all her thoughts were focused on killing. Raki stared. So this was a Claymore...

The yoma wasn't nearly as daunted by the Claymore's murderous look. It was laughing. "That's just fine!" It said gleefully, "I'll take you on! What can a human like you do?" By now the yoma's face had lost any semblance of Raki's brother. it's expression was filled with blood-lust. "To tell the truth, I was surprised when I saw you... playing tough but being so frail. I'm not afraid of you. Mere humans are no match for yoma! What can you possibly do with that huge sword?" Energized by it's own confidence the yoma charged the Claymore who still stood with her sword pointed toward the ground. Before Raki had cried, "Look out!" The yoma had smashed both it's fists where the Claymore had stood, creating a small explosion of rock and wooden floorboard.

"Too slow..." The sudden blur of movement behind the yoma took shape. The monster registered the Claymore and her swooping sword in time enough to spare it's head but not injury. Blood spurted from a deep slice in it's shoulder. "Gyah!" It cried, "Wh... what the...? It can't be!" This was impossible. No human could ever lay a finger on a yoma!

The Silver-Eyed Slayer didn't allow the monster a chance to recover from it's shock. She rushed it head-on, a courageous act that only confused the yoma further. It slashed it's claws forward recklessly but found it swung only at air. She was behind him again, moving so fast the yoma hadn't even notice she'd changed course. With a grunt of effort the yoma evaded her blow. "How? Where did...?" Relentless, the Claymore was there again, and this time sliced through it's arm, severing it cleaning from the shoulder.

The yoma collapsed to the floor, screaming. It gaped at the bloody stump where it's arm used to be, disbelieving. "How?" It howled, "How? How? How?" The Claymore did not answer. She only stood in thick silence, her eyes burning gold. "How can a half-breed move faster than a yoma? It's not possible!"

Springing it's long legs, the yoma bounded away from the Claymore with a growl. But rather than escape, Raki found himself locked in the monster's iron embrace. "Wah!" The boy kicked and screamed.

"I'll use him as a shield! To get to me, you'll have to cut through him!" The yoma frantically devised. But it was too late. The yoma had underestimated the Claymore for the last time. She took it's other arm with such speed that all the monster could do was watch it's limb fall uselessly to the floor with the boy hostage. It looked upon it's matching stumps in delirium.

"Gah!" It shrieked. "Gyah!"

The Claymore swished her sword with a sharp flick of her wrist, casting the yoma blood off it's dripping edge, splattering the floor. The yoma looked up in terror at the ringing sound of metal. "Do you want to know how we half-breeds can slay you?" The Claymore calmly asked, firmly in control of the situation.

"Pl-Please! Forgive me," The monster blubbered, "Spare me!"

She ignored it's entreaty. "By putting monster blood into this 'frail' body... we've gained speed you can't match."

"Please! Please!" It howled, panic shaking it's voice. "Let me go! I beg you!"

"And then..." She continued, unaffected, veins in her dominate arm surfacing, throbbing with yoma energy. "By adding monster flesh..." Veins appeared in her face, where her features began to twist and her mouth now resembled a maw filled with sharp teeth, "...we've gained the strength to wield our claymore swords with one hand!"

Raki's mouth opened in horror.

"Gyaaah!" The yoma finally understood the creature it had been pit against. it's begging was desperate and pitiable, as one who knew death was assured. "Please! I beg you! Let me go! Please!"

The sword came down before anyone saw it had been raised and the yoma was rent into two halves. The pieces fell to the floor in a great wash of blood. Against the spray, the Claymore's eyes continued a brilliant, burnished gold.

"Ah... ah... ah..." Raki found himself short on breath, on sanity, his back pressed to a wall. He shook uncontrollably. She was so scary... there was so much blood... could she control that power or will he be next?

By the time the Claymore shifted her gaze and peered over her shoulder at him, she looked just the same as when he first saw her. No hideous, malformed face or golden eyes. She flicked her sword to dispel the blood and sheathed it with a resounding _kashack_. She left him there cowering on the floor without sparing a word.

Raki slowly began to realize he was alive. He had survived it all. He had survived alone. "Uh... Uh... ooh..." He wept, fiercely holding his knees to his chest, while the blood of his slaughtered family and their killer soaked into the floor.

"Did you hear?"

"Yeah, I heard."

"Zaki was the yoma."

"They say he was already one when his parents were killed."

"Oh!"

The men exchanging gossip at the village well were leery. It was unsettling how easy the yoma had infiltrated their peaceful village, even assuming the identity of one of their own. And then for that boy to kill his parents... it seemed like the whole family was cursed.

"Even so, that Claymore was something."

"Yes." No one had any trouble coming to that conclusion, "She took care of business the day she arrived. Amazing. She was a Silver-Eyed Witch, all right."

"So, what about Raki?" A nervousness edged the question.

"Looks like he's with the village chief."

"I heard he can't speak from the shock."

Many people were interested in Raki. Most had a lot of sympathy for him, even those who lost their own children, husbands or siblings to the monster who had impersonated Zaki. But Raki had been unable to answer questions. Although people had come to fetch him from the massacre at his dead Uncle's home, Raki continued to hug himself tightly, gripped by the stark feelings of helplessness and fear that the Claymore and her battle had imparted him.

"He's been like that ever since." The chief, his arms crossed in a concerned manner, shared with another village elder.

"Well, he must have gone through a lot. That's for sure."

The chief approached Raki and placed a sympathetic pat on the boy's shoulder. "Forget it, Raki." He urged gently. But it seemed like his voice couldn't reach the youth. The chief was truly sorry that someone as innocent as Raki had to be traumatized from this ordeal.

But it was only _her _voice Raki heard: _You'll forget it... soon enough._

"What happened, to the girl?" The men resumed.

"Oh... She got her orders for another job and left for the next village."

Raki finally tore his vacant stare away from the floorboards and looked up.

"Actually, I'm glad." The chief admitted, "I didn't want her around for long." As helpful as her strength was in their time of need, that time was over. After yoma, Claymores were a threat to peace.

"Those Claymores are a lot like yoma." The elder agreed.

Suddenly Raki sprang to his feet and dashed from the room.

"Hey! Raki!" But the boy did not heed the chief's worried calls.

Raki sprinted down the main road, garnering surprised and perturbed looks from his peers. A few called his name. But these attempts to greet him went unheeded. Did they believe he could go on pretending everything was okay? He wouldn't have it that way.

_You're not... afraid of me?_

His legs began to cramp. Sweat had sprung up on his forehead. The air was so dry, his breath had gone ragged. But he had to reach the end of town in time. He couldn't let her just walk away without getting an answer.

_You don't need to know my name. You'll forget it soon enough_.

But that was the problem! All he had been doing was trying to forget, pretending he had! He couldn't anymore, not with his whole family dead and destroyed. He wasn't going to run away anymore. He wouldn't go on pretending.

There she was at the outskirts, that pale cape lifting and falling languidly on the limp breeze. Hands balled at her sides. Claymore on her back like a cross, glinting in the noon sun.

"Hey!" Raki shouted. "Wait!"

And she _stopped_. And she _looked_.

"I'm sorry!" Raki shouted across the distance. The flat, dusty ground seemed like it stretched forever between them, defining their worlds, but Raki wouldn't take another step. It would be a wasted chance. "You were right. I was afraid." Why was it so important to tell her? He couldn't answer that right then. All Raki knew was that the Claymore granted no illusions; had never tried to comfort him even with words. She faced the frank truth of a situation when kids like him couldn't handle it. Perhaps, Raki thought, this was the only kind of person who could fully understand. Who would never ask him to forget.

"Just like... when my parents were killed. I've been afraid for so long, but I pretend I'm not. And I've been ashamed for so long, but I pretend I'm not." The words, once his fear holding them back was severed, came tumbling out. "So... that's why I'll never forget. You killed the monster that killed my family. I'll never, ever forget you." Raki swore, gratitude and sorrow tightening around his words. "Thank you!" He proclaimed, "I'm truly grateful. I mean it. Really!"

The Claymore only stared. And then she continued on her way.

"Uh..." Raki wavered, uncertain. But then he decided after coming this far, nothing less than all his effort was required. "My name's Raki. Please tell me your name!" He refused to forget. Even if her face blurred into a vague memory, he avowed he would not forget their savior. "Please!" He owed it to himself and his family. But the Claymore didn't stop like she had before. Each unfaltering footstep made her shape smaller against the bleak landscape.

Then, unexpectedly, she answered, "My name's Clare." And Raki would swear that the flutter of her cape, the whistle of the wind and the pounding of his own heart all ceased in silent reverence.

scene I

**THE SILVER-EYED SLAYER**

_end_


	2. Claws in the Sky

scene II

**CLAWS IN THE SKY**

Clare stood with her back to the door, which had been crowded with villagers since she had entered their chief's home. The only thing the Claymore acknowledged was the chief himself, seated behind a table separating them as business was conducted.

"We're grateful that you came," The chief's small eyes, spaced so far apart that he resembled a fish, were locked unwaveringly on Clare's, perhaps in a forced effort to appear friendly. "I didn't think you'd get here so fast. If we'd waited any longer, we might have lost more villagers to the yoma and I would've failed them as village chief." His mood was buoyant despite the darkness of the hour, as if he were confident in the investment of the Silver-Eyed Slayer. "The attacks started on a few weeks ago," He filled her in.

"So that's a Claymore." Those loitering in the doorway of the town hall murmured amongst one another. No one was able to take their eyes off her and the giant sword that rose above her slender shoulders. "A Silver-Eyed Witch..."

"But after discussing it with everyone," The chief concluded, "I decided to call you." With a _thud_, he hefted a heavy sack onto the table. Holding its sides, he pushed it across the wooden surface toward her. "Here's the fee we agreed upon. Please accept it with our thanks."

"I don't want it."

"Huh?"

Until the top of the chief's head met the wall at the far side of the room with a sickening _plop_, no one registered that the Claymore had drawn her sword. What remained of the chief's face was frozen in a look of utter astonishment.

"Gya... Gyaaaaaaa!" Screeching wails of women and the horrified screams of men choked the room's panic. "The Claymore... She ..."

"She killed him!"

"The Chief!"

"Murderer!"

It was just as every human feared in the marrow of their bones: Claymore were monsters that could turn on them on whim. A stampede of feet began to empty the room of people who did not want their blood to paint the walls next.

But then: "No... Look!"

Some people threw terrified looks over their shoulders in time to see that the chief's hands that still clamped the sides of the bag of gold were changing into claws. The Claymore hadn't moved. She watched.

"Heh heh heh... if only you'd come a little closer." The yoma gloated, "I would've sliced through your flesh with these claws." And what wicked claws indeed; they sprang from its fingertips like knives.

"Aaaagh!" The remaining villagers were aghast. The chief had been the yoma preying on them this entire time!

Still the Claymore stood there not taking action. The wound was a mortal one; let it waste its last breaths with deluded boasts. "I thought I'd suppressed my aura... but I guess there's no fooling a Claymore. You used our strength to attack us." The blood ran thick down its contorted face, spilling over its severed skull like wine from a cup. "Damn... Damn you! D..." It finally collapsed and the last contents of gore overran the table and dripped to the floor.

"Ch-chief..."

"It can't be... The chief was a..."

With a _woosh_ the claymore's edge was cleaned of yoma filth. The villagers instinctively tensed at the sight but the Slayer returned the sword to the sheath harnessed between the shoulders of her spaulders. Clare turned her head, showing them a face striped with dark blood. "My work is done. Someone will be sent to collect the money. You will give it to him then."

Clare had not needed to walk far to reach that rural village but she had moved far enough from the mining town of Doga to escape its dusty pains. Ageless trees that did not seem to acknowledge the seasons but stayed ever-green and blue cascaded over the ridges and hills rising on all sides. Water was more plentiful here.

After dirtying herself with yoma blood, Clare sought out the nearest river in which to bathe. The rush of a frothy waterfall created a soothing static noise. Leaving her claymore leaning against a tree and her armaments on the ground, Clare stepped naked into a cool inlet, letting the sounds of pounding water and treetops being brushed by the wind wash over her. But her thoughts were not as serene as her surroundings and the Claymore bathed herself mechanically and without relish.

Still, a cocoon had wrapped itself around her while she rubbed her skin clean and Clare found herself tensing in surprise when a familiar voice behind her penetrated that cocoon to innocently ask: "Washing off the smell of blood... Clare?"

The man casually seated on a shore-side boulder had his hands resting on his knees. A wide-brimmed hat provided shade for his pale face and large, dark-tinted bifocals kept what his eyes said a secret. "It's useless, no matter how much you wash." He continued in perfect nonchalance. "Your own body produces that smell."

Clare did not bother to turn around. "Rubel, it's you." It always was. It seemed Rubel was as much a part of her Claymore heritage as the signature sword. "Did you get the money?"

Although Rubel's smirk, aimed at the Slayer's back, went unseen, the bag of coins his fist lifted up clinked its unmistakable contents. "New orders." He answered instead. "There's another job. In Strah, a village west of here."

"What is it?" She inquired, returning to the pebble-studded shore; neither did she move her hands from her sides to conceal her nudity or did Rubel look away from her martyred body. There was absolutely nothing to hide. Propriety belonged to humans. Picking up her garments Clare began to dress.

"Same as always. Find and kill a monster. It's less than two days' walk from here."

"And?" Clare prompted, pulling her leggings up until the clinging fabric was around her waist.

"The killings started barely a month ago," Rubel replied, watching her backside. "But twenty-seven people are already dead."

Clare paused. "That's a lot. Twenty-seven in one month is too many. It's either very hungry... or there's more than one of them." She put her arms through the sleeves of her brigandine and pulled it over her head, then fastened the neck of the black dickie, putting the unique emblem embroidered onto it in plain view. The latter seemed more likely to her; she didn't believe the organization would send her in pursuit of a voracious eater alone.

"Everything's ready." Rubel disrupted her thoughts, "The others will be here in five days. You can wait until then." Ah, just as she thought. But that didn't clarify just what four Claymores were being sent to handle.

"How many people will die in the meantime?" Clare asked him pointedly.

"Well, two or three I supposed." Was it his voice that seemed to smirk now?

Clare finished locking her armaments into place. She sheathed her sword and began walking.

"Leaving already? … Clare."

The Slayer's shortly-cropped hair shifted against the nape of her neck when she stopped and moved her head, but her gaze was pointed at the ground near her feet. "I don't like waiting. I'd rather finish the jobs quickly. That's all."

_Heh..._ Rubel smiled wryly to himself. "Go, then. It's our job to hunt yoma. What you do with your life is up to you."

Was it, Rubel? Or did you predict this outcome from the start...

Strah looked to be a prosperous town; it even had a barrier of cobbled stone drawing around its outskirts. Probably to deter wild animals from wandering into their streets. Many buildings were more than a single floor. A couple had steeples. It was a stark contrast to the huts and monotonous landscape of Southwest's Doga. Here the villages greatly benefited by the forest and plentiful springs.

It was all the same to Claymore.

The accomplishments of Strah went unnoticed by Clare, who stood in a street emptied of life. A warm wind buffeted her, tugging her cloak as it passed by. Glancing to her left and then to her right, she saw every shutter on every window shut and latched. There would be no curious faces gathering to greet her here. _Everyone's indoors_, she noted, _given the number of victims... They're all scared to death. No wonder they're afraid to be outside_.

And then, without pronouncement, a village man stepped into the street. Or did he? Dust was settling around his feet, suggesting he had dropped in from out of nowhere. As he calmly locked eyes with the Slayer, Clare's own flared gold, her pupils narrowing into slits. "So you're the yoma." She stated.

The man seemed amused. "Yes. You've got that right." So confident in their powers, backed by a history of violence, it seemed that compared to humans the presence of Claymore had no affect on their arrogance. "I never dreamed you'd come alone. I was hoping there'd be more of you." The man further cemented this opinion.

"You're out in the open," Clare observed, "The villagers will see your true form," Thus forfeiting his assumed identity and cover, "They're probably watching us right now."

The reminder was shrugged off. "Forget about it. There's no reason to hide anymore."

Three more yoma joined the first in the street, catching Clare by surprise. She was now surrounded, one standing on each of her sides. The others had already shucked their human forms, flaunting their snarling maws and monstrous eyes. Their clawed fists hung from the ends of their long, muscled arms like the deadly spiked ball of a flail. "You Claymores are a miserable bunch." The leader smirked, "Humans exist as food for yoma. But lately, you seem to think you can resist us."

_Four of them_, she counted, reaching for the hilt of her sword. _That figures. This could be bad_.

"Hey, she's getting ready." One yoma warned.

"That's brave of you," The leader commented, amusement lacing his tone, "...taking on all five of us at once."

Clare's eyes widened. "Five...?"

The fifth had already made its plummet, but the air displaced by its body, billowing against its leathery wings, gave the Silver-Eyed Slayer enough warning to throw herself to the side of its path. She fell onto her side, her fingers still clamped around the lacquered hilt of her sword. The monster hissed, shooting specks of spittle past its fangs. "Wings? This one can fly?"

"Die... half-breed!"

Her sword rang as it was wrenched forward and brought across her body to bar two charging yoma from laying their hands on her. Managing to wedge her boots beneath her, Clare ascended to the air with a powerful jump, leaving the yoma to converge on her empty place. But she'd forgotten about the winged yoma. Clare sensed it behind her but not in time to dodge. With a growl the yoma slammed its fists into her back, accelerating her gravity.

Clare landed with an _umf_, not going down as she had before. She crouched, facing the onslaught of yoma as the three ground forces charged her. Their faces were cackling caricatures of raucous laughter. They were _enjoying_ this fight. Batting a Claymore around like a kitten who hadn't grown claws stoked their egos immeasurably. It did not seem to concern one of them who, taking advantage of the Slayer's distracted state, tried to land a blow at her back but fail when she succeeded in blocking. The blade was wedged between its fingers but rather than withdraw its hand Clare was startled to see its claws extend at her. The nails scraped against her vambrace when Clare quickly lifted it to shield her face.

It was the yoma's turn to be surprised when the Claymore wrenched that slender arm of hers in a tall arc that ignored muscle, flesh and bone. Her sword sliced through his arm, cutting it into two forked halves. Blood rained. "Gyah!"

Clare entered a violent dance then, slashing, dodging and warring for dominance. The yoma struggled to flank her as if it were their only way to victory but Clare had wised to their tactics and used their momentum against them, causing them to overshoot her time and again. But the last pass she made offered one yoma opportunity to strike. "Gyaaah!" Its enraged cry fueled the fury behind its swiping arm. But when its claws passed through the air where the Claymore's head should have been, it only saw her blade jutting up from the ground. She had ducked into a crouch at the last moment but kept her sword jutted up! "Eh?" The moster turned its head and realized its arm had become a stump. It had just cut off its own arm!

Clare did not allow it any time. She swung her blade and cleaved it in twain at the chest. The corpse fell with a _thump_ onto the street.

"No!" The last two yoma dashed toward her, finally recognizing a legitimate threat to their own existence. Thinking it would be easier to have their heads if she did not have to contest with their claws, Clare threw herself between them in order to gain their flanks. Unfortunately one reflexive swipe of a yoma's hand sent the sword clattering toward the ground.

"She dropped her sword!" The one-armed yoma shouted.

"Now!"

But the claymore never landed. The moment the yoma realized this they were dispatched from their torsos. The leader and his winged cohort stood gaping. "Wha... !"

"I see now." Clare spoke quietly. Lifting her sword, fastening her grip, the Slayer turned toward them, yoki still staining her eyes with a palette of yellow and bronze. "I thought it was strange that five yoma needed to hunt in a pack. But then weak ones need others like them to lick their wounds."

"That wench," The man gasped, a bead of sweat trailing down his temple. "She dropped her sword... as a lure." With sudden, furious flapping the winged yoma shot into the sky in a frantic effort to flee. "Ah! Come back!" The leader cried after, apparently abandoned by his confidence as well as his muscle. Like a streak of silver light the Claymore passed him and his wound erupted in a vermillion geyser. "Gwu!" He choked out a mouthful of blood. "Gah... So that... was a Claymore... was it?" He collapsed to join the dead on the ground.

Clare searched the sky, easily pinpointing the yoma that was quickly gaining altitude. After a calm moment of consideration, Clare's face warped. Opening herself up to her monster side and releasing yoki energy, she began to resemble the creatures she had cut down. Veins roped her arms and strained her face. As she pulled her arm back, the new strength that pulsed through her made it feel lighter, made her feel more capable. Her potential expanded, twitching beneath the skin. Taking aim, Clare threw her weight and flung the claymore, sending the blade rocketing through the sky like a sleek silver arrow. And with like accuracy it skewered the yoma in flight. Its wings resembled a funeral shroud, twisting around the corpse in its graceless plummet. The body landed near Clare with the claymore still stuck through it's back.

By then Clare had tamped her flow of yoki and was once again viewing this world with silver eyes. She drew up to the yoma and pulled her sword from its back. She stared, as if contemplating. Five yoma felled and only a tattered cloak had been suffered on her part. But how many more encounters such as this will there be when she is underestimated? Her record for using such to her advantage was so far spotty. And in this case, there had been a couple close calls.

Clare sighed inwardly, glad that this was finished "My work is done," Her voice echoing off stoic walls. "Someone will be sent to collect the money. You will give it to him then."

Tramping away from Strah, Clare was surprised to see Rubel waiting for her. "Ah... so you survived." It sufficed a greeting as much as anything.

"The job is done." She responded indifferently. "Go collect the money... for five yoma."

"Oh, you fought five of them. Not bad." A smile that was at once cold, sardonic and amused remained carved into his face. "How noble of you... to risk your life for these ungrateful villagers... and fight alone against a pack of yoma. Was it because... when you remember your old self, you feel drawn to help?"

Clare spared the man in black only a sharp glance from the corner of her silver eye as she passed him. "Like I said... I'd rather finish the jobs quickly. That's all."

scene II

**CLAWS IN THE SKY**

_end_


	3. Memories of a Witch

scene III

**MEMORY OF A WITCH**

His tongue felt like the parched cracked desert he had been staggering through for days. No matter how far he pushed himself those ragged mountain peaks always remained beyond the horizon, beyond his ability to reach. Long ago his heavy steps had become an exertion of sheer will and he was reaching the limit of his endurance. The wind strengthened, whipping up the dust left in the man's wake. But the air was no cooler than the merciless heat beating down on him a heavy club.

There were no trees, no shrubs. The ground was void of even the wheeling shadows of scavenging birds. He had not the company of snakes nor scorpions. And he would have welcomed their company now just so he wouldn't have to die completely alone.

His rasping breaths grew shallow and became indiscernible against the rustle of the scarf wrapped around his head. When his legs buckled and gave out beneath him, the bleak landscape had already passed into the shadows of unconscious night. A column of dust was swirled up by his collapse, the countless particles limned in the sunlight, creating a glaring haze that emboldened the silhouette of the Claymore who looked on.

_You're not afraid of me?_

Why could he only dream her voice? When he thought about her every day, when he focused on conjuring those haunting silver eyes in his mind and etched with his foot the symbol on her uniform in the dirt back home, why was it he could only remember her sad words when he closed his eyes?

_You don't need to know my name. You'll forget it soon enough_.

Raki's eyes opened. The view of a vast and endless desert sky he expected to see was obstructed by the roof and four walls. The hard earth had been replaced with straw-stuffed bedding and a fleece pillow. His grimy clothes had been removed and the dirt scrubbed from his face. The boy slowly sat up, confusion fuzzing his brain. "Huh?" He peeled his tongue from the roof of his mouth; it felt like cotton. "Where am I?" The words came thick, hoarse from days of disuse.

An unexpected _katan_ of the room's door opening startled the boy.

"Oh, you're awake." An unfamiliar face greeted him. His visitor was a man who could stack Raki's age three times, with thick eyebrows and mustache. He wore a vest over his tunic. His arms were burdened with fruit's and two loaves of bread. "You were almost dead," The man addressed Raki's obvious confusion. "You were lucky to be rescued."

"Huh? Wh..."

The man entered and crossed toward the bed to unload the foodstuffs on the small make-shift table next to it. Raki saw it was a crate turned on it's side.

"Eat." His host said, the kindness in the man's voice suggesting he had children of his own. "You haven't eaten in days, have you? It's a miracle you made it across the wasteland with so few provisions."

"Um... Uh... Where am I?" Raki was finding it difficult to get his bearings.

"Eh? Oh... the inn." The man set his hands on his waist. "The inn at Egon village. You've been sleeping since yesterday." A small smile lay half-hidden beneath his mustache as he watched the heap of food absorb Raki's attention. "You must be hungry. Go on, dig in." He urged.

"Oh... But I don't have any money." Raki confessed sheepishly. "I can't even pay you for this room." He felt guilty taking up a bed just to recuperate. It had been his fault for traveling with so little, after all. His water had only lasted the first days' trek.

"Don't worry about money," The innkeeper dismissed his concern, "Your food and lodging has already been paid for."

Raki thought he had slipped back to dreaming. "What?"

"By a Silver-Eyed Witch."

"Huh?" The boy's eyes widened. He recovered quickly: "D-did you say 'a Silver-Eyed Witch'?" The blanket over his legs was thrown back and his bare feet dropped to the floor. "What was her name?" He entreated.

This was an odd reaction to the innkeeper. "Don't know." He answered, "She didn't say and I didn't ask. Still, what a sight." The man's tone held on to his enthusiasm, acting quite intrigued by the circumstances surrounding the inn's newest occupant. "A Silver-Eyed Witch walked into the village carrying a half-dead boy. She brought you here to the inn, put you in a bed, and paid for your food and lodging."

Raki was stunned by the revelation. "So... Where is she now?"

"Don't know." The man gestured with an empty hand. Then he finally said something useful. "But we didn't call her to this village. She probably headed off to her next job."

Worst case scenario being that the Claymore had a day's lead on him, Raki grabbed his travel pack up in a hurry, tossing his threadbare brigandine over a shoulder, and clattered away from the bed and table. "Sorry!" He excused his abrupt departure, "I gotta get going! Thanks for everything!"

"Hey, wait!" Pointing at the food sitting on top of the crate, he asked with some disbelief, "Aren't you going to eat?"

Food! He had instantly forgotten how hungry he was. His stomach wasn't so absent-minded and it gnawed on his insides as a ferocious reminder. Ravenously the boy stormed the table and lay siege to the food. "Hey, hey!" The man warned him. "Slow down or you'll choke."

"Thanks for the food!" When his stomach was bulging against his tunic – which he took the time to put on and tuck in, along with the rest of the clothes that had been laundered for him as he slept – Raki launched his quest. "Goodbye!"

"Uh... sure."

The door slammed.

"Take care."

By the time Raki made it onto the street the realization that he didn't know where he was going caught up with him. Egon impressed him with it's paved streets, tall houses and cathedral. Travelers like him dotted the lanes, some even wearing the same kinds of sashes necessary for traversing the barren landscapes he related to Doga. Outnumbering the wayfarers were the townsfolk who were identified by their richer fashions. Raki noticed women wearing smartly tailored cowls and the men wearing shiny leather boots with thick, durable soles. He felt daunted by his surroundings. "Clare..."

_You're not... afraid of me? _Had it been Clare? Did she rescue him from his fate in the wasteland? _You don't need to know my name. You'll forget it soon enough._ If it was, then she had remembered _him_. And she had protected him. _My name's Clare_. Raki felt his resolve lock into place and a new desire take form.

"Hey, you." A masculine voice jolted Raki from his thoughts. "You're the one who was carried into town yesterday." The town resident stared at Raki. "A Claymore was looking for you."

A soundless gasp left Raki's mouth hanging open. Fate must be moving them closer without his help! "Wh-what? Where...? Where is she now?" Raki almost shouted with his fervor.

The other leaned away from him. "Uh... She left town and headed for the woods nearby."

Raki moved like a fire had been lit under him. "Thank you!"

The woods were thick and covered in green from the moss that hugged whole trees to the verdant ferns that created a latticework of teal shadows that played over a dominating carpet of clover. Only where Raki walked did the lush grasses recede and the path was barred with the roots of trees grown into a knot-work he had to step carefully through.

Raki's aimless tramping through the forest was giving him a lot of time to reconsider having blindly come running into the woods in the first place. Who knew how far the wilderness reached. But the idea of meeting Clare again would keep him searching until the moon came out.

Pausing to lean against a tree, Raki caught his breath. He could hear the wind passing over the forest canopy. The sound of boughs brushing together resembled a rushing river. The thought whet his sharpening thirst. Suddenly a figure stepped onto the path and the sun-studded shadows of midday flowed off her like a cloak. Raki's heart leapt into his throat. "C...Clare!"

But no. It was a Claymore – the outfit was unmistakable – but this one had platinum hair that reached past her shoulders. _It's... It's not her_, Raki realized with defeated hope.

"Are you alone?" The Claymore asked him.

"Eh?" What an odd question. "Uh... Yes." Raki tried to swallow his disappointment down but found he still spoke with detectable dismay. "Are... Are you the one that saved me?"

"Hmm?" The Claymore had been looking into the surrounding trees. "Oh, that. No need to thank me."

"But why did you...? You don't even know me. And you even paid for my food and lodging." He only wanted to believe Clare would be that kind. If everything his brother Zaki had told him was all true, even though Zaki had turned out to be a yoma, Claymore didn't have a reputation for being good Samaritans.

"I just wanted to help." She returned to facing him fully. "We Claymores are kind at heart."

Her words struck him. "Huh?"

"What's more," Her sabatons clacked as she walked purposefully toward him, closing their distance with a clipped stride. "I took a liking to you." Raki's muscles tensed when the Claymore surprised him by caressing her fingertips against his cheek. She leaned into the small space between them, coming intimately close. Her lips kissed each word; "And I wanted to make you mine."

Raki vehemently shoved the woman away with both hands, freeing himself of her unwelcome touch. "You're not a Claymore!" He declared, his heart banging against his chest. "Claymores never, ever call themselves by that name!"

The imposter's eyebrows drifted upward, digesting the accusation. "Oh?" Her face remained impassive. "Is that so?" And then with the horrifying ease of a player on stage dropping their mask, the woman's clear eyes and porcelain face curdled into the visage of a demon. "I didn't know," The yoma's thin lips pulled back from it's teeth in a feral snarl. "I'll have to remember that."

Raki's tenacity turned on him. He remembered how adamant Clare was that he understand that her kind had no true name. At least, if other Claymore were anything like Clare, they would resent the classification. But Raki hadn't anticipated that the woman impersonating a Claymore would turn out to be a yoma! He had only begun to grapple with his shock when the yoma moved so fast as to appear instantly behind him and seize a brutal grip on his hair. "Ugh!" The boy cried out in pain, the roots of his hair threatening to tear free. Raki was beginning to develop a pattern for hostage scenarios.

"You're pretty smart. But you followed me here just as I planned." The monster mocked, it's sour breath hot on the boy's ear. Disturbingly the yoma hadn't relinquished it's human form and but for it's naturally hideous face. Raki didn't speak or give it further satisfaction by whimpering in pain. He clenched his jaw tight instead. "You can come out now!" The yoma shouted into the trees. "I know you've been following me! I'm your next job, aren't I?!"

Raki forced his eyes open. "Huh?"

Clare. She stood in the middle of the path. Not a single shadow seemed willing to touch her. Her hands were at her sides, her boots spaced evenly apart, her breathing silent and steady. Her claymore was still on her back, soaking up light until it seemed to glow with untold power. Clare looked every inch the eye of the storm ushered in by the claws around Raki's throat. "C...Clare." He feebly uttered her name. But Clare's eyes seemed to stare right through him.

"You don't give up, do you?" The yoma said with disgust, "No matter how far I run or where I hide, you stick to me like a shadow. I'm sick of it."

She stepped forward.

"Hey, hey, hey!" The monster barked. "Don't make another move."

The Claymore hesitated.

"I know how fast Claymores are." It revealed. A probable explanation for it's ability to masquerade as a Claymore must be that some unlucky warrior had ended up as a snack for the beast before all this. What a useful disguise it must have been, until now. The yoma curled it's fingers around Raki's throat to further caution the Silver-Eyed Slayer. it's claws had, by then, extended to lethal points. "Take one more step and I'll rip out his throat. One false move and I'll do it." It next mete out the conditions of surrender; "First, drop your sword. And no tricks."

The Claymore reached a hand behind her head, her fingers recounting with intimate knowledge every inch of that sword. She would found it's hilt perfectly each time. Metal grinding metal signaled she was prepared to pull the sword free. "What makes you think a hostage will stop me?" She challenged.

A bead of sweat was tracking it's way down the round curve of Raki's cheek. No, he couldn't believe what her words meant. Did Clare not remember him? Her expression had offered no flicker of recognition. But even so... would Clare cut through him to kill this yoma?

For a moment the yoma seemed to have the same doubt. But it's hesitations quickly receded. It, in fact, became exultant. "I never thought it would... at least, not until yesterday." Nothing on Clare's face changed but she did not unsheathe her sword. "But when I saw you carry him into town with such care, I changed my mind. That's when I knew he would be useful." But neither had Clare unlocked her fingers from the claymore's hilt.

"Eh..." Raki realized what the monster was saying. It _had_ been Clare who had rescued him. Nothing about Clare's impassive face confirmed this. But she didn't deny it. Raki knew it was true.

"You may be part monster and a ruthless killer, but you used to be human. Even if you _can_ keep your emotions in check, a Silver-Eyed Witch can't forget memories of her past life. For instance..." The yoma toyed with her, "...when you were human you might have had a little brother." More sharp teeth appeared in a broadening grin. "Maybe this boy reminds you of him. Well? Am I right?" It prodded with sadistic revelry. The Slayer only fortified her stalwart stare with enough yoki to cast them in brilliant gold. "Go ahead!" Laughed the yoma. "If you can kill me along with the boy, then do it! Bwa ha ha ha ha!"

The sword came free, sunlight rippling across the steel. Clare tossed it away. With a resonating _clang_ the sword rebounded off a tree and fell over a precipitous cleft, landing at the bottom of the dry gulch that ran alongside their path. Raki stared, not knowing what the sacrifice could mean. "How's that?" She dared.

The yoma's eyes lit up; it was positively manic with delight. "Bwa ha ha ha ha ha!" It bellowed in self-assured triumph. "You fool! You humans really _are_ fools!" It's face became darkly serious, honing an implacable intent. "No... you're only half human. You Claymores are half of nothing!" Raki nearly stumbled from the force with which the yoma released him. It ran for Clare.

Each of Raki's senses had narrowed down to a discordant whine in his ears, submerging the heavy pounding of his heart. "Clare! Look out!" But the speed of the assault had left Raki suspended in a different time; the yoma's arm had already burst through the Claymore's back in a bloody fissure. Clare's face absorbed the pain but the blood that stained her lips and chin were were far more telling.

"Ha ha! I got you." The yoma wriggled it's blood-soaked fingers, reveling in the warmth of the Claymore's insides hugging it's arm. "I sliced right through a Claymore!" It's laughter was laced with the mirth of a murderer who took immense pride in their work. "Hurts, doesn't it?" The monster mocked. "Even if you are a Claymore, when your guts are pierced... Huh?" It noticed the Slayer's fingers had banded around it's arm, gripping hard. Without warning the two killers, still entwined, went falling back into the gulch. After their legs had disappeared over the edge Raki realized Clare had been the one to pull them over! If this was to buy Raki time to escape he didn't think he could run away and leave her behind like this!

"Agh!" As the yoma's back struck against the rocky slope declining into the dry creek bed it grunted under the Claymore's added weight. "Don't make me laugh! Do you think a fall like that could hurt a yoma?"

Sliding to a stop, Clare straddled the yoma's waist and pinned it's free arm to the forest floor beneath her boot. Such a defiant act of strength belied that of someone who should be dying on it's arm. Clare reached for her claymore that had landed close at hand.

"Eh?" The yoma's gaze traced her movements too late. With one swing the Claymore chopped off the offending arm impaling her abdomen. The situation had slipped from the yoma's grasp, literally. It's rising howls of lamentation were abruptly silenced when the claymore's edge entered one side of it's head and left through the other, marking it's path with a spray of blood. It was finished. Clare invested no concern in preserving the pristine color of her uniform while she stood over the bloody geyser of the yoma corpse. She would not be satisfied until she watched the last drops soak into the earth with her own golden eyes. Then Clare regarded her own wounds. Grasping the stump sticking out of her stomach, she pulled. With a loud sucking sound the appendage pulled free. Blood gushed and gurgled from both sides of the gaping hole left behind. Clare wilted to one knee, gasping. Blood coursed down her faulds and dripped to the ground. Concentrating, Clare let the pulse of her yoki power overwhelm the throbbing in her guts. Her flesh became roped with veins, defining themselves even against the tight fabric of her brigandine. The blood that ebbed between the fingers she clenched over her stomach stopped. She removed her hand and watched the progress of her wound closing.

"Clare!" Pebbles tumbled down the side of the ravine as the boy from Doga came skidding to the gulch floor on his backside. Without stopping to gain balance he came hurrying to her side. "Are you okay? Clare!" She didn't turn around to face him. "I'm sorry! I'm sorry, Clare! It's all my fault!" Tears of contrition stained his face. "It's all my fault!"

"Don't get the wrong idea." Clare glanced sharply at him from the corner of her eye; it had been absolved from the taint of yoki and was once more as cold and silver as the clearest arctic night. "I didn't throw the sword away because of you. I only did it to trap the yoma." She placed the sword in it's sheath. "If I'd gone through you to get to him, he would have killed you and gotten away. So I dropped my sword to draw him in."

"Oh... I see..." That was clever. But... if Clare only thought of him as an obstacle...

"What are you doing here, anyway?" Clare partially turned toward him. But the woman always seemed to keep a foot in the other direction, as if she could choose to be gone at any moment. "You're a long way from your village," She observed.

"Uh... well..." How to broach the subject? Without condemning the town who raised him, without sullying his own worth? Raki lowered his head as if defeated by the question.

"Did they throw you out?" It was a question clad within a statement.

Raki felt like his heart had been given a jolt. "... No... No, I..." He couldn't make himself speak badly against his home. They were just trying to protect the people they loved. So Raki tried to clench his trembling jaw and show Clare a strong face. But... _You're... _

_ 'You're my brother!' The girl sobbed. 'Mother and father... they're...' She couldn't say it. She couldn't look. Their bodies... they were in pieces. While her brother with a monster's face was rocking his body into hers, the girl had used up all her tears._

_ Why... Why are you doing this?_

_ There were tears on his face. But he didn't let her go. He kept hurting her body until a merciful darkness took her mind away. The Claymore that came was too late. It would have always been too late, because they could never have saved her brother..._

_ 'What will we do with her?'_

_ 'Poor Clare.'_

_ 'Her father and mother were killed, and her brother was a yoma.'_

_ 'The poor child.'_

_ 'But if we raise her here... we can't say for sure that she's not a yoma herself.'_

_ 'Truth be told... the ones to be afraid of are those close to the yoma's victims.'_

"No... that's not why. I just... I... I'm not a yoma." His voice broke.

Clare watched Raki through the flickering shadows of her own past. His tragedy did not belong only to him. It was sadly common. Yet... the world that separated them had just become a little smaller. "Do you know how to cook?" She suddenly asked.

"Eh?" He looked baffled.

"You said before that you'd do the cooking. Are you any good?"

Realization cleared away the clouds of anguish darkening Raki's face. He nodded vigorously, unable to keep his hope from soaring beyond his control.

"Okay, then." The wind picked up, changing it's course. "If you can cook, you can follow me... Until we reach a town where you want to live."

"Okay!"


	4. The Black Card

scene iv

**THE BLACK CARD**

Raki's stomach was beginning to sound like a caged animal, growling and rumbling threateningly. Pressing a hand to his stomach was doing nothing to quell the pangs of hunger.

"What is it?" Clare noticed that he had fallen in steps behind her. "Are you hungry?"

"Uh... Well, yeah." Raki admitted. He hadn't wanted to be the first to suggest they stop and search for food. If he did that would make him feel like he was being a burden to Clare. Raki wanted to make her load as light as possible. She had been very generous to invite him to join her travels, after all. "I mean... uh... we haven't eaten anything since breakfast and we've been walking all day. It's kind of strange you're not hun –" Clare was giving him a strange look, as if he was speaking something foreign. Then, without a word, her claymore came ringing out of the sheath between her spaulders; a bewildering gesture that sent Raki's eyebrows reaching for the sky. Clare's arm was a blur, parting the air with a _swoosh_.

The subsequent _thwok_ of the claymore embedding itself in the side of a desert reptile was punctuated by the animal's piercing shriek. It died with it's tail still twitching. Even from this far away with all the sloping dunes between them and the unfortunate critter Clare's aim was incredible, cleanly passing through its ribcage to kill it with the least amount of misery. But, presently, admiring Clare's handiwork wasn't on Raki's mind. The boy looked about ready to swallow his tongue from disconcerted surprise.

"Will that do?" The Claymore asked intently.

Raki couldn't decide exactly _what_ it was that they were going to be eating for dinner but he did think to himself that this is what a baby yoma might look like. It's reptilians eyes weren't too different. But, as he considered it, he didn't really know anything about yoma life. They all looked the same to him; the last one looked female but that was only because it was impersonating a Claymore. If you could tell yoma sexes apart, Raki had no clue how. He decided to stop thinking about their dinner as something this disturbing. He might actually put off his own appetite!

Raki came lightly stepping into a small clearing holding a water bottle in his hands. The cooking fire he had built in the middle of their camp made the shadows pulse around the forest's slender trees and send their shadows hurtling off into the night. "I brought some water." He cheerily informed Clare. The Claymore only made a noise, indicating she'd heard. Raki knelt by the stakes and spit he had put together with sticks he'd found and had positioned over the fire with the reptile kill as its centerpiece. The boy's face was suffused with a sanguine glow as he examined the blackened hide. "I think it's done," Raki decided, cracking a leg bone to get at the meat inside. He nibbled a piece. "It looks awful but it tastes pretty good." He tore free a hindleg and offered it to Clare. "Here's yours."

"Mmm," Was all the Claymore offered in return, accepting the proffered leg.

Raki was oblivious to the woman's reticence. "I'll dry the rest, so it should keep us for a while." That was something he definitely knew how to do. Without good, fertile soil the food Doga harvested from the land came far less from seasonal crops and more so from the migrations of animals. A diet heavy with proteins was put to good use in the mines where men roped their bodies with muscle demanded by their daily toils. Drying meat was something the women typically did though it behooved every person to have the knowledge. Meat kept in this way lasted for weeks or sometimes months. It would get leathery and lose flavor but Raki would rather gnaw on jerky than let his stomach gnaw on _him. _Something that was in danger of happening right now! "Let's eat!" Raki exclaimed, wielding a creature arm toward his mouth. He chomped away rapaciously, only pausing to chug water.

Clare watched the feeding frenzy. It'd been a long time since she'd seen anyone attack their food like that. It almost reminded her of... She took a delicate nip from the hindleg, then another. Raki managed to notice her demure dinner manners through the madness of his own. It was such a contrast that he paused to watch her slowly eat. After only a few dainty bites Clare released the bone and let the nearly-whole piece of meat fall to the ground where she sat. "Hmm."

Raki watched her, finally getting a sense that she was being unusually conservative. "Eh? Are you done?" He purported; "Was it _that_ bad?"

"Hmm?" Clare didn't seem aware of Raki's concern. "No. I'm full." She saw he had stopped eating and was looking at her with that same little-boy look he often paired with confusion. So she further explained; "Our bodies need very little. We eat once every couple of days. We can easily go a week without food and water." They gazed at one another from across the fire. The shuddering light did strange things with her eyes. "It's enough just watching you eat like that," Clare reassured him, "I'm a little envious, really." Her gaze sank to the fire's glowing embers. "I guess that's what it's like to be human."

Clare returned to folding her arms and reclining against a tree trunk. She even closed her eyes. But Raki kept staring, not even minding the scraps of dinner clinging to the side of his mouth. _She looks so normal up close, I thought she was just like me. But Clare's half yoma_, he reminded himself, _She's half monster... A Silver-Eyed Witch. A Claymore. I wonder what she thinks of monsters and humans._ Raki had taken another bite to chew while he pondered. He didn't notice Clare had begun staring back at him until she shifted her weight to one foot and rose from the ground. He hadn't seen the way her small mouth frowned; Raki might've thought she could hear his thoughts!

"Uh..." Raki began to get up, "Where are you...?"

Clare paused from walking away from their camp and looked back at him. "Do not follow me." She commanded. Raki flinched; her voice stopped him half through the act. The boy dropped his weight back to the ground. _The... toilet, I guess_, he assumed. But he had never heard Clare use _that_ voice with him before. Her voice normally had a deep affect on him but this time... he felt intimidated.

Clare walked to where the shadows weren't brought to life by the glow of the campfire. Instead they were still and lifeless. The crackle of fire was replaced by the groaning of trees and the leafy shudder of warm breezes. Moonlight was weak but the poor visibility didn't slow Clare's purposeful gait. It was the sudden break in silence that did; "Over here."

Rubel was blacker than the darkness that pervaded the forest, his figure cut against the pale shape of a large birch. Only the man's face contrasted the dead colors around them, though he still wore those tinted bifocals. How his sight was still useful with them on at this late hour was a mystery. "Well, well, well," He clicked his tongue, "How impulsive." The man didn't waste time to criticize his little Claymore. "Why did you bring the child with you? He'll only get in your way." But the Watcher sounded amused.

"He's just the cook," Her explanation contained a verbal shrug, "He won't be in the way."

Rubel loosely crossed him arms. "Oh, you have a cook now? Sounds like something a human would do." There was something mocking in the undercurrent of his tone. "Or maybe he reminds you of someone from your past. How sentimental."

That simpering smirk on his face thinned Clare's patience to a wire. She afforded him only a scant glance from the corner of her eye. "What did you bring me?"

With playtime cut short Rubel moved on to business by tossing a dull-colored bundle to the ground between them with a _thud_. "Here," He presented, "It's a brand-new one."

What else could it have been but a new raiment. Clare did not turn around, only opened the latch on each shoulder to bring the front and back of her ruined brigandine down with a _klank._ The garment was made with a steel holster stock attached to the back. This way a Claymore could carry her sword without the addition of her spaulders or other encumbrances. Next she stepped out of the leggings she had pulled down to a heap around her ankles.

"Turn around. Clare." Rubel instructed her, dispelling the illusion of modesty between them. Naked, Clare obediently turned to face him. Rubel crouched in front of her, using a bare finger to trace the abdominal wound she'd acquired from the fight in Egon's forest. "That looks pretty bad," He determined. There was no objection on her part that he could see it clearly enough with those black glasses on. "Don't forget," He reminded her, "even if the wound closes, if you get hit in a vital spot, you'll die just like a yoma." Clare was guided to return facing away; "The other one looks fine." Rubel appraised the exit wound. "You're okay for now." With permission implicitly granted Clare began to dress. Never having preferred silence it did not take Rubel longer than it took Clare to secure the fasteners on her outfit before he mentioned with false interest; "I wonder... what the boy would think if he saw you like that."

Clare did not acknowledge the Watcher's jab. Rubel concluded business with a rare genuine caution; "You shouldn't be so impulsive. Get attached to him and _you'll_ be the one who gets hurt." The man took seven strides in opposition of Clare's position but then stopped. "Oh," His tone suggested he'd suddenly recalled something. How coy. "I have something else for you."

That was so unexpected Clare's curiosity perked. She allowed herself to peek back at him. But Rubel only punished that rare glimpse of human instinct with the flip of his fingers, producing between the two digits a long black card. Clare's eyes widened.

"A... A Black Card?" Reality slammed into Clare. "It can't be!" She balked, "Why me?"

"It had to be you." Rubel wasn't ruffled in the least by the Claymore's burst of emotion. "She asked specifically for you." He flicked his fingers. Clare felt the card hit her chest. "Check the contents yourself." Without a parting sword the Watcher passed through the trees and was absorbed by darkness.

Clare was left holding the card. She held it tightly between her thumb and finger but even then it trembled, betraying the weakness hiding in her bones. No, it couldn't be. This was a mistake. Because... if it wasn't, that could mean...

It wasn't within her power to resist the contents of the card. Tentatively Clare pulled the paper free from inside the sleeve. Little by little the Claymore ensign printed there revealed itself. And, in the same way, Clare's eyes grew larger, until a full and heavy realization had her lashes cresting and her slender eyebrows crashing in.

The sky seemed lighter than before. Raki gazed up through the jagged silhouettes of towering pines, watching the scudding blue clouds towing away the time behind their dark tails. _She sure has been gone a long time_, he thought, swinging his arms behind his head in a quick stretch. _Must be taking a big one_. It was then that he noticed the ghostly visage of Clare stepping out of the hazy darkness and approach their humble campsite. "Hey!" Raki greeted, jubilant to have company again. "You're back. I dried the rest of the meat, so if you ever want any... just let me..." The look on Clare's face stopped him short. What trivialities he meant to say withered in his throat. How could he describe her... Clare looked like the life had been cut out of her; she stared vacantly, as if her mind had been removed to someplace unreachable. "Uh.. eh..." He fumbled for something to say but Raki wasn't sure where he came into it.

Clare saved him the trouble, locking eyes with him. "Tomorrow we'll cross Mount Shire. Be ready to move out first thing in the morning."

"Uh... Oh, sure..." Raki deferred to her instructions. But he felt sure that what he'd seen wasn't an illusion.

By the next day, as they trekked tirelessly – well, Clare did at least – up the crumbling incline of Mount Shire Raki still hadn't tried to pry into what had given Clare such an odd, somber expression the night before. He worried about her sometimes. She was easily the strongest person he knew but Raki thought that even a Claymore, who was once human, could have weaknesses. He tried forgetting about it; if she wanted to clue him in to how she was feeling then he should let her do that of her own volition. Otherwise it would be an unfair compromise, wouldn't it?

So he'd been pretty good about keeping his thoughts to himself. But as the sun climbed and the arid climate grew hotter it became obvious to Raki that, as usual, unless he did the talking the two would walk in silence forever. With nothing but the hiss of wind slithering through the piles of rock that made up their barren environment and Clare's sabatons clacking against the stone, Raki yielded, "Hey, Clare. Can I ask you something?"

The Silver-Eyed Slayer maintained her stride, not encumbered by the uneven terrain the way Raki found himself at times catching his toes. He adjusted the strap around his shoulder, rearranging the weight of his pack. "Are we going after... a yoma?" He ventured nervously, eying the flutter of her cloak as she walked ahead of him.

"No." After a pause she elaborated, "My job today... is to take down someone you would call a Claymore."

"Ah!" Raki gasped. "Eh? But why... one of your own?" Stupefied, he struggled to recover. "Why do you have to do that?"

"You _do_ know that we're half monster, right?" She paused their walk.

"Eh? Well, yeah."

Clare detected what Zaki had known about his brother for years; Raki had an insatiable curiosity once provoked. So she went on in a lackluster presentation of the facts; "In our bodies, we hold the power of a yoma and control it with our human minds, which preserve our identities. We're basically monsters with human heads. That's what they mean by 'half human, half monster.'" She resumed their brisk pace, leading Raki around boulders, making steady progress toward the mountain summit. "Even though we're half-breeds, we side with the humans and kill yoma. We are humankind's greatest weapon. Before we existed, humans were powerless against the yoma. But by using the yoma's own power, they could finally defeat them." Clare concluded with only a twinge of dark portent; "Half-breeds eventually become... full-blown monsters."

"Huh?!" Raki's mouth worked uselessly for a moment. "But... that means..."

"If we lived like normal people, I wouldn't be a problem." Clare overlooked his concern. "But the more we use the yoma's strength and abilities, the closer we are to becoming monsters. There's a tug-of-war between our human minds and our yoma bodies. At some point, the human mind breaks down, and we turn into a full-fledged yoma." Clare had slowed to another stop. "To prevent that from happening, our organization has a plan." Raki heard the faint _shh_ of something he couldn't identify as Clare fiddled with something, her back still to him. "We use this." And she produced a large, elongated black card in her hand. "It's called... a Black Card."

Raki accepted the card and found it was a sleeve that contained the true card within. He slid it out and saw all that was written on it was a symbol reminiscent of Clare's. He said as much; "Eh? This is like the symbol around your neck and on your sword."

"That's right." Clare confirmed, casually reaching up to grasp the hilt of her claymore. She whipped it forth, squeezing the long handle with both hands. "When we're sent out to work, we're given a unique mark. It represents our name and identifies us within the organization." Her gaze tracked down the blade, lingering on her ensign for only a moment, before holding the sword sideways and unplugging the false pommel. Tipping the hilt forward allow a rolled slip of black paper to slide out. She held it up for him to see; it was a Black Card with her own ensign on it. "...The hilts of our swords carry a Black Card."

"Eh? Ah..." Raki looked between the cards, letting it sink in.

Clare returned her card inside the sword hilt and the replaced it's pommel. She held her sword before her, the long, indestructible blade lancing for the heavens. "When we know that our human mind has reached it's limit..." She said solemnly, "...and we're sure we're about to turn monster... and we've made up our minds to die as a human in human form... we send the Black Card to the one we want to be killed by."

Full realization dawned on Raki's young face, where knowledge of death had no right to be. "Then..." He gathered the sensitivity to ask her gently, "...who sent you that card? Do you know them?"

"Her name is Elena," Clare answered, unable to remove her eyes from the sword, as if it were the tool showing her the past, "We joined the organization at the same time. We comforted each other in our darkest hours. When our bodies were transforming and were wracked with pain, we'd hold each other at night so we could sleep. And..."

There was a revealing _klank_ of footsteps, snatching Clare and Raki from their somber reflections. A Claymore had come down from Mount Shire to meet them. Raki saw her as a girl hardly bigger than he was. But she wore all the raiment of a Claymore, every detail mirroring everything Raki had come to associate with Clare. But this newcomer's hair brushed over her shoulders and framed her face and brow like ivory larkspur ringed a placid lake, with the same enchanting effect. The Claymore stood rigidly with her claymore gripped in one hand. A tension accompanied her presence; it was a stranger to the peaceful image her small smile invoked.

"It's been a long time. Hello, Clare."

"Elena..."Clare stared, unable to move. "You haven't changed. You look just like you did back then." The two friends, however, failed to reunite with more than words, Raki had noticed. But then, two Claymore embracing was not easily pictured. Elena kept a berth of ground between she and Clare, who admitted, "I thought... you'd be more distorted now."

"I'm forcing it back... to meet with you." Elena confessed, not having lost one ray of warmth to her smile. "How long has it been? It feels like ages, but I remember it like it was yesterday. There was so much pain back then, but for some reason I can only remember the good times."

Raki felt like a phantom dagger was being sunk into his heart. There was someone close to him he remembered fondly too. Not long ago he had had a brother...

"I started this job after you. I never thought I'd end up like this before you did." Elena, however, did not sound bitter. It's... It's no good." Raki saw large veins reaching across the space of the Claymore's cheeks. Doubtless Clare saw the same signs of the battle being waged within. "I thought that taking on the yoma's power would give me strength. But to control it, you have to have a strong human heart. So... Please..." Elena's voice tightened around her words until they broke in their struggle to make herself heard, "Hurry!" She urged Clare, in tears. The throbbing veins were crawling over her body and arms, causing her to tighten the grip on her claymore. "Do it. Do it while mine's still human."

Clare took a step toward her.

"Clare, stop!" Raki grabbed her arm. "Don't do this!" He begged her, "She's your friend... isn't she? You can't do this!"

"Clare..." Elena's pleading voice was as brittle as her control. The pulsing of her yoki was threatening to turn rampant.

"No, please!" Raki persisted, his own tears coursing down his reddened face. "She's your friend! You can't! Please, don't do it!"

Somewhere between moments Raki's fingers affected the Claymore no more than a gentle breeze and Clare was gone, sequestered behind the spray of blood that bloomed from Elena like the macabre wings of a butterfly. Raki witnessed in shocked horror the gushing blood that painted Elena's mouth as the Claymore fluttered to the ground. Clare did not watch. "Thank you... Clare..."

_Now... I can die as a human_.

Raki sobbed until he shook from the shoulders with tremors of grief. Clare stood apart in contrast, silently and with dry cheeks paying respects to the claymore marking Elena's grave, which she had planted at the height of Mount Shire.

"Elena..." Clare finally spoke, "She joined the organization the same time I did. We comforted each other in our darkest hours. When our bodies were transforming and we were wracked with pain, we'd hold each other at night so we could sleep."

Rubbing a dampened sleeve across his wet face, Raki remembered her story.

"And..." Clare was finally able to finish, "...from the time I joined the organization as a child... she was my only friend."

"Why? But why?" Raki sobbed. "If it's so painful, why do you fight the yoma?" He let the tears choke him. "If you didn't... If you didn't fight... Elena wouldn't have had to die. And neither would you..." It was a heavy weight, the realization that Clare would leave him someday. It was too heavy, he couldn't do it. He didn't understand why he should have to.

"For us... that is our reason for being."

scene iv

**THE BLACK CARD**

_end_


	5. The Overwhelming Darkness I

scene V

**DARKNESS IN PARADISE**

part I

The holy city of Rabona, the bastion of humans' strength in faith, is a dazzling spectacle packaged inside formidable wall of white stone. It's defense isolates the townsfolk from the wild world beyond it. Within it's stone embrace dwell citizens in tall but narrow homes and work in respectable shops. The proliferation of chimney stacks and shingled rooves secure the notion of permanent civilization. Those strolling the paved streets enjoyed the cool shade of long shadows. Rabona was arguably the only city on the continent where it's citizens lived with a genuine sense of security. Such a rare commodity did, of course, come at a cost.

The hinges of an inn's front double doors mewl as a hooded stranger wrested them open. An attentive innkeeper raises from his chair, grateful to give his weary eyes a rest from the dotty writing on the pages of the book opened before him. "Welcome," He greeted the hooded figure who had stepped into the humble foyer. "We're the cheapest inn around," Boasted the old man. "Need a room?"

The short figure wrapped up in the cloak's mantle pulled back the hood, revealing a young sun-kissed face, mousey-brown hair and bright hazel eyes. "Uh... Yeah." Raki smiled widely. "I guess I'll be staying here a while." He looked to either side of the small room and noticed many weapons, mostly ceremonial swords, decorated the walls. A large framed board was attached to the wall behind the innkeeper. Two dozen brass keys glittered from nails lined in neat rows.

"A room for one then?" The innkeeper's voice rasped like a gate would creak with rust but he smiled pleasantly.

"Well, no." Raki said hesitantly.

Behind the boy, another cloaked figure entered the modest inn. The garment's hood perched on the crown of pale blond hair and folded along the elegant jawline of a beautiful young woman with hazel eyes that matched those of her younger counterpart. "There are two of us." She interjected. "My brother and I are traveling together." Clare enunciated each word with a demure but earnest smile. "We look forward to staying here."

The aged innkeeper discovered himself gawking at the lovely face. "Oh. Uh, sure. A double room then," He grasped for his manners. "I guess it must be difficult traveling on your own."

"It's not," Clare answered. "We earn a living selling antiques that out late father left us." The Claymore lied so smoothly Raki was glad that she did all the talking. He wasn't quite comfortable sneaking around but he had been made to understand how necessary it was. Especially if he was going to travel into Rabona with a Silver-Eyed Witch.

"Antiques?" The man's raised brows inquired.

"Yes." Clare nodded at Raki, indicating he unload the large bundle he had been carrying on his back. "Our father devoted his life to them." As Raki set the bundle onto the floor with a heavy _thunk_ it stood up to the boy's shoulder. "This is the last piece in his collection."

As the last of the protective shroud flapped to the floor it unveiled a stature which the innkeeper examined. It had a square base from which a woman sprouted like a spring flower with a flowing robe instead of petals. Her head was bowed and her eyes closed in reverent prayer, her hands set together as if all her faith was concentrated there. Raki kept his hands on it, either to keep it steady or from some possible concern that it could topple.

"I've been told this is from the Ruona period." Clare intoned, "It's a statue of a goddess by Auguste."

"Hmm..." The old man sat back down into his chair and propped a hand thoughtfully under his chin. The shock of white hair that stuck up from his scalp made him look perpetually surprised. "That's really something." He said admiringly of the relic. "How much do you want for it?"

"The price is ten million beras."

"T-Ten million?" Trying not to look insultingly skeptical, the man forced a smile. "Sorry, miss... but it just don't look like it's worth ten million. I think your father was having you on."

The woman smiled, unruffled. "Yes," She agreed, "I think so too." While Raki gathered the canvas from the floor and worked to wrap their prize antique up again, Clare continued; "But since we travel around selling our father's memories we decided to try and sell them at the price our father set."

"Then I reckon I should keep my trap shut," The innkeeper apologized. "Good luck." After plucking one of the keys off the wall behind him, he passed it to Clare. "Here's your room key."

"Thank you very much."

As Clare led Raki lugging the statue to their room, the innkeeper sighed at their folly. _They'll never sell that thing._ They passed a fully-armored city guard in the corridor, who faltered in his clanking footsteps when he noticed them. _Oh._ Maybe it was only the woman with the short, silky hair he noticed. "H-Hi."

The soldier entered the foyer and joined the innkeeper. "Who's she?" This younger, mustachioed man asked in a low voice ripe with an interest that wasn't suited to business only. "What a beauty."

"She's a guest," The innkeeper's face still held to that undiminished look of surprise. "Said she's traveling with her brother selling antiques."

"Antiques? That's unusual these days." Even after the travelers-in-question had skirted around a corner and were gone, the city guard's stare lingered. "Sure she's not a yoma?"

"Don't be daft," The innkeeper admonished. "She's got a brother. And monsters rarely travel in pairs... ever."

"Well, for them to wander into town in these troubled times... It's just plain weird."

"How would they know that, with the gag order?" The senior pointed out.

"Rumors still get out..." The guard frowned, "...like the one about a yoma appearing in the holy city of Rabona."

"This room is huge!" Raki marveled, his eyes especially bright when admiring the twin beds nestled close to a masonry fireplace, their brass frames catching the afternoon light streaming in from the second-story windows.

"It is rather nice," The Claymore admitted. "Times may be hard, but this is still a holy city. They have standards to keep up." She dropped her travel pack to the floor with a _thud_ and reached to peel off her long, black cloak and discard it with a sharp _flap_ of heavy fabric. "Phew," Clare exhaled, the weary admission just a soft breath. She looked exquisite in her dress, a greatly feminine improvement over her usual armor. A seamed bodice hugged her waist and accentuated her breasts. A long skirt rumpled from their long unbroken trek to Rabona left her shapely legs to the imagination. Raki thought she looked more human than ever this way, especially with her human-colored eyes. The eyes he had realized Clare had as a child. She must've been a pretty girl even then... But Clare looking tired, like she was now, made her lily complexion sickly.

"Clare... are you okay?" Raki didn't take his eyes off her. "You don't look so good."

"Don't worry, I'm fine." As the Claymore was wont to do, Clare rebuffed the boy's concern. "It's the pills." She explained, but almost absentmindedly, as she gazed at some unnamed spot on the floor. _Rabona..._

"Rabona... the place they call a holy city?"

"That's right." Rubel, Clare's vigilant and overly-interested Watcher, steepled his fingers and gazed into the smoking flames of the small campfire of the Claymore's erected camp. "The request came from there. They want you to hunt down a yoma that's appeared in town."

Clare turned away from the light. Her voice reflected her uncertainty: "But... Rabona is..."

"Yes." Rubel's uncanny ability to finish his Claymore's thoughts spared Clare the trouble of involved conversation. To Rubel, that man probably enjoyed showing off his own knowledge. "Anything unnatural... objects, tools, people... is forbidden in the holy city of Rabona," He further volunteered; "Of course, that includes us Claymores."

Clare immediately recognized the complications inherit in her next assignment. "If that's so, then we can't –"

"Not necessarily," Rubel interrupted again, stating: "This is a matter of special urgency." Clare glanced across the campfire and saw dancing shadows tugging at the corners of her Watcher's mouth. "We've been asked therefore to enter the city without revealing ourselves... and to dispatch the monster quickly and quietly. That's the specific request."

Clare's gaze drifted away. "So it's a covert operation," She reiterated carefully. "Is that what you're saying?"

"Precisely." Rubel rewarded her with a large bundle, swinging it by one hand and letting it land hard in her arms with an audible _whap_. "There's a small container inside," He explained. When Clare didn't express any more interest than an acknowledging _ah_, Rubel prompted, "Open it."

The small container fit into Clare's palm, made of a hard leather. It's shape was reinforced with slender metal bands. It had a hinged cap which, when she jerked it, fell open to deposit three round pills into her open hand. She thought they looked like large seeds or dried gooseberries.

"Never seen those, eh?" Rubel surmised from the look on her face. "They don't look like much but the pills will suppress your powers. They'll temporarily change your eyes back to their natural color. You won't give yourself away." He returned his gaze to the fire and his dark-tinted glasses burned with its orange glow. "But you'll also lose the ability to sense yoma," He cautioned, "So after you slip into town, you'll have to search for it the old-fashioned way."

Clare's fingers curled around the pills in her cupped palm, silently acknowledging the delicate balanced within their importance.

"You'll find some other things you'll probably need in the pack... including some clothes that should suit you." Clare didn't like the amusement roiling in Rubel's tone. The man's smirking mouth cracked into the grin of a serpent. "If you pretend that the boy is your brother you can sneak into town without raising suspicion."

"Is that why I was assigned the job? To take advantage of that?" Clare's sideways stare was like the dangerous flash of a dagger in the dark.

The Watcher pressed his lips together but his smile was no less broad. He pushed the bridge of his bifocals up the bridge of his nose. "Well," He climbed up from his rocky seat, "They picked the best person for the job... that's all."

Clare narrowed her eyes on his back, annoyed by his fiendish sense of humor.

"You've been trained for situations like this." Rubel paused at the edge of the woodland darkness. "Don't be so gruff in town. And try to look like a modest young lady... in those clothes we gave you." Although his back was to her, that wicked grin was laced throughout his parting jab.

"Clare!" Raki exclaimed. The boy returned her senses to their room at the Rabona inn. "What is it? Are you all right?" Raki's mouth was bracketed with worried creases.

"Hmm?" Clare hardly heard him, distracted by the past.

"Oh," She knew that look on his face, at any rate. "I was just daydreaming."

To Raki, that didn't seem like Clare. She wasn't convincing him."You sure you're okay? Maybe you should rest."

"I'm fine," She insisted. "Time is short. Let's go out."

The innkeeper was still posted at the foyer table when Clare and Raki went to depart through the front door. "Hey," He greeted them. His eyebrows were plastered high on his wrinkled forehead and his white mustache dropped over the edges of his mouth, still infusing his face with a constant look of astonishment. "Headed out?"

"Yes," Clare, once again swaddled from shoulder to ankle in her long cloak, inclined her head toward the man in a polite parting gesture, a gentle smile enchanting her face with a shy, unassuming kindness. "We're going to take a look around town."

Raki only stared at her with a slightly-muddled look in his eyes.

Once they were outside and walking down the cobbled street Raki spoke up. "You keep changing your personality. It's amazing." He couldn't put his eyes to where he was walking; Raki gazed at the indifferent side of Clare's face with awe.

"I've had some training. Covert operations are part of our job." She explained, taking no pride and no humility from his compliments. "We've learned to carry ourselves so we can blush like an aristocrat or smile like a prostitute."

"Prostitute?" Raki stuttered, his face instantly flushed pink.

"What? Are you interested?" Clare looked at him. "Shall I show you?" She offered.

Raki bumbled to a stop. "Wha..?! No, that's okay!" He energetically declined, feeling the heat in his cheeks reach to his ears, turning the rims carnation pink. Just the idea of Clare being... acting like... he couldn't even finish the thought! It made his heart race.

_Clang, clang_. The thundering of church bells drew their attention to the massive cathedral appropriately comprising the heart of the city itself. The staggered spires of the tower trifecta perpetually reached for the gauzy blue heavens above. It's foremost steeple was decorated by a mosaic of colored glass depicting fables of the faith in a dazzling array of colors. When not wholly concerned with their mere survival, humans were capable of creating wonderful things.

"This is... Rabona Cathedral, the center of town." Raki's awestruck gaze was absorbed by the impressive house of worship towering over them. Clare looked at the building with sheer objectivity. Claymore had no use for the majesties of human engineering. As Raki couldn't help but marvel as he thought of his small dust-covered hometown in comparison, Clare was most likely considering how she would infiltrate the cathedral that night.

"Let's go inside." Clare said.

"Uh... O-okay." Raki trailed at her heels as they walked the nave. He was like a puppy discovering all the smells the world had to offer; Raki's attention darted in every direction. The way his mouth remained open, his lips parted, marked him as a tourist. But that suited the Claymore's cover. Raki's enthusiasm was often what provided balance to her stoic brooding. Even when _behaving_ Clare still stuck out.

The resonant _clang_ of a halberd striking the stone floor of the transept barred them from entering the presbytery. The weapon's owner, a stern guard dressed in full plate armor addressed them; "The baptismal hall is beyond here." His visor was at the top of his helmet, framing his face with steel. "It's closed to the general public."

"Oh," Clare made a delicate sound, assuming that demure manner with an ease that Raki had thought bizarre. "We came to be baptized."

The guard did not soften. "Do you have proof?"

"Yes." She placed a token into the palm of his gauntlet.

After a moment of examination at the ensign that had been etched into the metal token the guard assented, "This is proof that you've completed the Pilgrim's Journey. You may enter." He stepped aside of the large, shadowy archway. Passing through it led to a hall with vaulted ceilings. Along the aisles were open coffins made from stone. Along each side images and motifs were carved.

"Wow, this is creepy!" Raki exclaimed, investigating one of the coffins. "They have mummies! Must have been someone important..." The boy would think that; like most people he had been raised in a shabby village or a town without sufficient guard and the dead went into the ground or burned on pyres. It was custom for the high-status to construct mausoleums to house their dead ancestors. Others who had the money could pay to bury their relatives in the catacombs characteristic of large cities such as Rabona.

Clare's concerns were nowhere near the subject. _I knew it_, she thought with dismay, _no matter where I go, I can't catch even a whiff of the yoma. I guess searching the town is the only thing to do._

"You there." A man's gentle voice turned Clare around. The Claymore was not used to being off-guard. The inability to sense yoma aura wasn't her only weakness in this state. "If you're here to be baptized..." The man wore a cassock, identifying him as a cleric of the church. A pendant lay visible against the stark white shoulder cape enshrouding his slender shoulders. "...Please come this way."

"Are you Father Vincent?" Clare asked, giving away nothing.

"Yes." Father Vincent answered without hesitation.

"It's an honor to meet you."

Raki stood still and watched Clare approach the kindly priest, even going so far as to drop to both knees on the stone floor. The reverberating sound of church bells clanging for the hour caused the air to tremor, and Raki looked past Father Vincent to one of many alcoves along the wall, sheltering altars. As Father Vincent began to speak, it seemed to Raki that divinity was something even he could touch. "I baptize you in the name of our Lord. What is the name of yours?" Father Vincent smiled down on the bowed, blond-colored head of the pilgrim before him.

"It is Rimuto." Clare answered in a calm, level voice. "I have come from the land of Stafu."

The air immediately changed. The priest's choked surprise was mercifully compounded by the last toll of the clanging bells. "Th-Then... You are..." A shudder unseated his composure.

"Please lower your voice." Clare responded in that same stoic tone. "Continue, Father."

Father Vincent glanced at a few clerics and pilgrims looking his way curiously. "Uh...Ah..." Bringing his disconcertion under control, Father Vincent reached out to cup his weathered hands on the sides of the woman's head and lean in as if to whisper the final prayer. Never did the knowledge budge from the forefront of his thoughts that he was touching a cold-blooded killer. "I understand. Let's meet later this evening," He instructed, "In the south room on the top floor. There's a curfew at night, so it will be hard to walk around. Will you be all right?"

"Leave it to me... Father." Clare's lashes were resting on her cheeks, her eyes closed. They looked the perfect picture. If only sins could be removed that easily.

Father Vincent straightened and performed the final rites with two swift movements of his hand. "You are now baptized." He proclaimed. "Go forth with the mercy of our Lord. Forget not the modesty of a child of our Lord."

Clare rose to her feet. "Ah. Thank you very much... Father." She turned and went to take Raki's hand. "Let's go." She directed her little brother.

"Uh... Okay." She wasn't going to get an argument out of Raki!

The priest watched them depart through an archway. _Oh_, he thought to himself, _So that was_... He'd never seen a Claymore before, of course. It was unfortunate that he should ever have to, given the circumstances that surround their every footstep.

Night came for Rabona as it always did, slipping through the streets until every home and shop was wrapped up like pretty little packages of black velvet.

"Finished your dinner?" The innkeeper allowed himself into the room of his two newest guests, the girl and her brother. Clare looked up from her seat by the small table covered by a tray full of emptied bowls and cups. "Yes. It was delicious." She thanked him.

"Glad to hear it." The innkeeper answered with cheer, approaching to pick up the tray. "Where's your brother?"

"Oh..." She turned her head and looked at the boy buried under the quilt on the bed. "He ate so much he fell asleep."

"Is that so? I'm glad I gave him a large helping." Balancing the tray on one arm, the man shuffled back to the door. "You should get some rest too, young lady." He admonished, "You must be tired from your journey."

"I will. Thank you."

"By the way," The man paused to caution, "This town has a curfew at night, so you can't go walking outside."

"Yes. I knew that." After the door had shut behind the innkeeper, Clare raised her brow at Raki, who began to groan. Loudly. "Sorry I made you eat my share." Clare offered, watching Raki slowly sit up with an _oof_.

"Nah, it's okay. It's not your fault that you eat so little. It would look suspicious if we left too much food." It sounded like Raki was learning. "And I came along as the cook, so that's kinda my job. Even if it's not quite how I imagined it..."

Clare afforded herself a small, private smile. But whether it was the comedy of Raki's sentiments or the food still clinging to his cheek was unclear.

_Huh? Was that a smile? _Raki could barely detect it before the Claymore cast off her civilian cloak and picked up something darker and more suitable for stealth, thus blurring the moment. She would need to blend into the shadows as much as possible.

"Now then... I'm going out." She finished securing the shorter cloak around her neck. "Close the doors and windows after I leave," She instructed Raki. "If anyone comes to the door, pretend you're asleep."

"Okay."

"Good." The wooden sill of their open window creaked as Clare grabbed the molding and lifted her weight. She crouched on the balls of her feet, prepared to disappear into the night. "I'm off."

"Ah! Clare! Wait!"

Clare looked at Raki, surprised by the exclamation.

Raki blinked at her. "Be careful," He said earnestly, "...okay?"

Clare blinked back. Then turned to face the sleepy city again.

"I'll be fine." He heard her say. "Don't worry."

Then she was gone.

Raki hurried to the window, but all he saw were small tufts of dust rising from the rooftops that stretched beyond the darkness. They were the only fading clues that the Claymore wasn't simply flying through the air.

Rabona Cathedral was a half-realized apparition in the moonlight. Its majesty was darkened and twisted into something ominous by perfidious shadows and the thick tension welling up in a city who has known peace for too long.

Clare studied the sleeping cathedral. From her vantage point on a nearby rooftop, she could watch the armored guards patrolling the entrance's arched doorway.

_The watch around the cathedral is tight. I should avoid going down there._

Clare freed a light, capable grappling claw on a thin sturdy cord from her belt. She sent the four-prong claw hurtling in a mad arch. It parted the air with a quiet _fwosh_ and its successful clutch of a spire's ledge was noted with a stone-dull _clack_. Clack pulled the cord taught, testing its realiability. Then her body went rustling through the air, over the heads of the guards far below.

A guard turned his head at the faint flutter of her cape. "Hmm?"

"What is it?" A comrade prompted.

"Oh..." The guard stared at the empty space above them. "Nothing."

Clare watched, herself a thin shadow hidden within the deeper darkness of the cathedral tower, as she hung from the strength of her grip around the grapple cord in her hand. Clare knew she would not be discovered by the guards, so she addressed her attention upward, at the vanishing point of the tower looming above.

_The south room... is on the top floor._

Father Vincent had set himself to pacing in the lonely quarters in the tower's south room. Expecting – but not know when to expect – a Silver-Eyed Witch had made the man's nerves taught. So when there came a clatter from the window Father Vincent felt his body seized as in a vice and all color fled from his face.

It was the Claymore. But that did not assuage his shock any. He was alone in a room with a monster.

"I received orders from Chief Rimuto that were sent by the organization in Sutafu. The original request was sent from here in Rabona. Isn't that correct?" The sound of the Claymore's austere voice cut across the room as cold and foreign as that silver gaze. When that gaze dug into him, the Father's composure further frayed.

"Uh... Yes." He managed, "That is correct. I was the one who wrote the request."

"Tell me more."

"The first to die was Father Van," Father Vincent said, after they were both seated across from one another at a small table. "Since then, my colleagues have fallen victim one after another. And each time it's happened inside this cathedral." His knotted fingers were steepled, hands tightly gripped together as he spoke, remembering the horror of finding those corpses. "In no way can this be made public. We are the instruments of our Lord! If it gets out that we're being picked off by a filthy monster... the people will lose faith!" Dabs of a cold, fearful sweat tracked down the wearied lines of his aged face.

"Yoma treat all equally." The Claymore replied. The indifference of the statement drew only a confused look from the priest. She went on, "Those who have money and those who don't, those with status and those without. Whether they're believers or nonbelievers. Male or female, old or young – it matters not. As long as they have flesh... they are all the same." The consummate killer speaking through such an angelic face, faced him with a horrific truth.

And it pushed him from his chair, that truth, and even through the thick folds of his robes his body shook with waves of helpless trepidation. "Help us, I beg you! Please! I don't want to die!" He cried, "I can pay whatever you want." He looked at his open palms and saw he couldn't will the tremors from his fingers. "To die so horribly," He lamented, "The way the others did...I... I just..."

"Keep the money." The Claymore disrupted him.

"Huh?" He looked at her.

"After the job is done, someone will be sent to collect it. You will give it to him then. If I get killed, there'll be no reason to pay." She said it so calmly, each word measured and ascetic, that again Father Vincent was at a loss to reply. But he rose from above the seat of his chair, moved by a stirring of hope. "Ah... Then..." She would hunt down this monster?

"As far as I know, it is within the realm of possibility that the demon is hidden within this cathedral. Athough I'm inside the cathedral, I can't seem to sense it right now." She went on to confess,"I can't sense its aura. To be honest, I probably don't stand a chance." The Claymore paused, permitting that admission to sink in. She closed her eyes. _Did she only just now realize the odds?_ The Claymore's impassive face told him nothing more. It was that cold, austere indifference that most disturbed the priest - and his impression was a far-spread sentiment among humans. Never did the corner of her mouth twitch or her brow furrow; there was never a notch of human feeling in her expression. Every part of her was measured and deliberate. To a Claymore, control was paramount. Or, yet, control was critical to survival. Control of their bodies, control of their yoki and of their emotions. To lose control could mean something worse than death, for themselves and for the unfortunate souls within reach of their massive blades and a bottomless hunger.

When her dusky lashes parted, the woman's unwavering stare and unexpected treaty gripped Father Vincent; "As a priest and an instrument of your God... would you do me a favor? If I die fighting the monster... would you take care of the boy who's traveling with me?"

The impact of the question visibly registered on Father Vincent's face. All that emerged from his unhinged mouth was a bewildered sound.

"Please do not worry, he is a normal human." She recognized the fear that flickered in the man's eyes. "But yoma killed his family. He has no one else. He naturally had to come with me. There's no chance he'll turn out to be a demon." A Claymore would never suffer to allow a single yoma to live, it was unthinkable. "He could be an attendant to the priests, or even a floor sweeper – anything would do. Will you accept him?" Ever still, the Claymore's face appeared untouched by a shred of feeling. Yet the priest was humbled by the earnestness he yet saw. The crows-feet vanished from his widened eyes. Then, Father Vincent started laughing.

"I feel so ashamed," He confessed, cradling his brow with a weathered hand, his epiphany giving way to humility. "Although I am the vassal of god, I was only concerned about my own safety. While you, a half-demon, are resolved to lay down your life fighting this creature. You're more concerned about that young man than you are of your own fate." A sublime restoration of the man's faith restored genuine warmth to a thin, composed smile in kind. "All right. I accept." His lowered his hand and turned to face his unprecedented guest, "But please forget about dying. Although this mission is supposed to be conducted in secret I will do my best to aid you. Let's not do anything to make the boy suffer. Let's work together."

"Thanks." However, the Claymore made no such promise. "I'm in your debt." 

*

The city rooves blended into a monotony as Clare dashed across their seemingly endless expanse. The cathedral's dark silhouette dwindled behind her. There was only the flutter of her cloak as the wind broke against her body. All else was quiet. But then the low and gentle whistle of three lethal knives slipped into Clare's perception, barely catching her by surprise. To her attacker, each dagger seemed to find themselves a home in their target; the back, beneath the ribs, the hip.  
Clare urgently planted a foot down and slid across the roof of someone's home. She dragged a train of clay dust behind her in a loud, betraying clatter. A hand she thrust beneath her fortified her balance and Clare was able to nimbly dodge the downward sweep of a bastard sword. The blade cleaved through the air at the behest of two powerful arms and broad body, all clad in polished armor. The city guard -!

The roof proved brittle against the might of that swing, the roof's ridge was destroyed with an uproar and clatter of demolished tiling. A Claymore's superior agility and hair-trigger reflexes aided Clare in evading the blow unscathed. But she lost advantage on the roof as she slid toward the eaves with a hand outstretched for balance.

The armored guard looked down from the drastic slant of the roof, the weak moonlight delineating the curve of his helm and pauldron. A city guardsman without mistake. "Didn't you know there is a curfew order at night?" His sword was gripped tightly within the fist of his gauntlet. Clare saw no face, only brown eyes. And those eyes were staunch and methodical. "Blatantly violating it to prance around on rooftops... Anyone would think you're a demon! Even if I kill you, it wouldn't be considered a crime..."

A common burglar would have been intimidated by such bravado. Clare said nothing.

She did cast a glance from within the shroud of her hood, however, when another man stepped out from hiding behind a chimney across the narrow street. He wore breeches, a fine tunic with rolled sleeves and leather vestments. He was slim, with pale hair that snaked over his ears and forehead, and had a pair of cunning eyes. "Heh heh heh," That handsome weasel snickered.

"That's true isn't it?" He smirked across the way at his companion in the armor. "She dodged your attack." Clare noticed the man speaking had the tips of daggers tucked between his knuckles, at the ready. "But my three daggers should find their target easily... Should I try?"

With a sudden roar, the knight rushed forward, leading with another powerful downward swing of his sword. Clare jumped back, her hooded cloak and black raiment yet concealing her identity, for now. _Fwip, fwip, fwip!_ Clare proceeded to peddle backward to avoid the three daggers that embedded themselves where her feet had before moments before. Yet the attacks were unrelenting and Clare found herself rebounding once more as the knight maneuvered again behind her. He yelled and swung. But to the collective surprise and shock of the two guardsmen, the cloaked figure produced a dagger to stop the assault of the bastard sword with a resonant clash of blade against blade.

"Ah-" This close, Clare could see the disbelief in her adversary's brown eyes.

"Oh... my god..." The weaselly man across the other roof realized that it was his own knife in her hand.

Neither man were given the chance to rally themselves against this turn of the tables. From within the folds of Clare's cloak there came flashes of twilight. The knight grunted as he was assailed by several knives that this miscreant had somehow collected during the attack. The sharp blades glanced off his armor, setting deep grooves into the once-immaculate steel.  
The knight's comrade was quick to the rescue and was in the midst of pulling back his arm to send more knives Clare's way when he got a face full of cloak. "Ahh!" He yelped, tearing the fabric off. Just as he cast away that wretch's cloak, he saw her, just as the knight was seeing her, and their eyes widened in awe and disbelief.

"It's a woman-?!"

They discerned no face in the compromising shadows, but short pale hair and a svelte, feminine physique. She was gone a comment later, disappeared. Their moment of indecision had cost them their quarry. Nevertheless, the weasel was ready to pursue.

"Forget it." The knight said, pushing his visor up. "It's too late."

"I hit her with my daggers! She should be injured!"

"Here are the daggers that you threw at her." He held up three of the man's distinctly-fashioned knives, thwarting the man's persistence. "There isn't even the scent of blood, much less any sign of blood-stains on them."

"How..." Just what did that mean? How could she have... "No... that's impossible! The daggers definitely hit her!" He was an excellent marksman - no, he considered himself the best in Rabona - he always landed his mark! "Didn't she... pull out the daggers and throw them back?" That was his only explanation. But then he finally realized just what the knight was inferring. "Could it be that... She caught them all while they were in the air?"

A silence as still as the city enveloped them.

"That girl... just who is she?"

scene V

**DARKNESS IN PARADISE**

part I

_end_


	6. The Overwhelming Darkness II

scene V

**DARKNESS IN PARADISE**

part II

The hairs on the back of his neck prickled. The cathedral guardsman looked toward one of the arched doorways in the grand hall but there was nothing but thick, suffocating darkness that stared back.

"What is it?" His partner noticed his partner's distracted turn of the head.

"I heard something." The man answered, unable to tear his eyes away from where he was sure that faint, resonant clang had come.

"You're imagining things. We just patrolled this area and we didn't see a single soul."

"That's true." The guard exhaled a pent up sigh. Although the guards patrolled with halberds and wore steel plate, it was comforting to believe that they were prepared for anything. "The entrance to the cathedral is more heavily guarded than usual," The man replied, turning toward his compatriot, "No yoma could possibly get in..."

He was greeted with an eruption of blood, spraying up from the stump where his partner's head had been a moment before. He stared. _Impossible._ He stared, and did not see the hulking monster looming up out of the darkness.  
Until the poleyn on the beheaded knight's knees clattered against the stone floor as his body fell, so slow to collapse, as if unable to grasp that it was long dead already.

"That's... that's impossible... We checked the cathedral top to bottom!" Other than a few soldiers, the guardsman had been convinced that the only souls within the cathedral's sacred walls were the priests. "H-How is it...?" He stood, transfixed in horror and paralyzed by fear, as the monster gurgled something akin to laughter.

Morning light streamed in through the room's only window, brightening the walls and giving the dull floorboards a lustrous sheen.

"Uhm...mmm..." Still curled up in bed, Raki had resisted waking as long as humanly possible. "It's bright," He murmured to himself. "Time to wake up..." He thought he was speaking to Clare. But the boy realized his arms were wrapped around an empty blanket. Then he remembered the last night.

"Oh no!" He jolted up in bed, "Clare's-!"

"So you're awake."

Clare was seated by the window, once again wearing her ankle-length cloak, the pale silk lining of the hood draped down her shoulders glowing softly. Clare's eyes, too, seemed to be glowing in the morning light. A sharp silver.

Raki blinked. "Clare... your eyes have changed back."

"Oh. Yes. The pills only work for half a day." She rose from the chair and took the hard leather purse Rubel had given her from within the folds of her cloak. Two small round pills slid from the opened lid into her palm. "When the effects wear off I have to take more. So I always carry some with me." The purse disappeared back where it came, as Clare returned to her seat. She looked out the window. "My powers only just came back, but I already sense something. It's moving inside the cathedral."

"Eh?" Raki wondered if she was talking about the yoma she was sent here to slay.

Outside in the room, in the inn's narrow corridor, several pairs of metal sabatons clomped heavily against the floorboards. The city guard burst into the room of the newly arrived travelers without ceremony – but fortunately just as Clare replaced her hood over her head. "Don't move." A knight commanded the pair, unapologetic. "We're looking for yoma."

"The half-eaten bodies of two soldiers were found yesterday in the cathedral. Come with us."

_C-Clare_... Raki swallowed thickly as he watched two of the guardsmen usher Clare from her chair and stand on either side of her. He believed that when her hood came down they would all see her brilliant silver eyes. And Claymore were forbidden from trespassing the gates of Rabona, the Holy City. So what would they do to punish them for this crime? Raki suppressed a nervous twitch as a guardsman gripped his arm. Did they really suspect them to be responsible for those murders?

"Yeah," A voice drew everyone's attention toward the door, "She was about that height."

Clare recognized the cocky knife-thrower's abrasive tone before she saw him standing in the doorway along with his taller, broader knightly companion. They wore the same attire; a suit of scratched steel and an ensemble of leathers and fine embroidery. Had they been out all night searching? Such dedication. Or was it pride?

"Looked pretty suspect, running around on rooftops last night. Didn't you two arrive in town yesterday?" The weasel went on, the inference plain. He ruffled a hand through his blond tresses while his other hand was tucked into a trouser pocket. His self-assurance was mired in detestable hubris.

"Sid," One of the guards gave the blond a sharp look, "and Galk," he glanced at the knight behind Sid. Galk had dipped his head an inch in order to pass through the door. "Weren't you supposed to be on guard duty at the cathedral last night?"

"Ah, take it easy," Sid spread his hands and gave a careless shrug, "Don't be such a hardass!" He ignored the dark look from the guard and stepped over to the woman in the long cloak. "I don't believe the girl from last night was a yoma." He smirked, "Our problems with the yoma in this town didn't start yesterday." Sid leaned forward, trying to peek into the protective shadows of the hood drawn over her head. "But for someone to catch my knives in midair with their bare hands... I doubt an ordinary girl could do that."

It took restraint for Raki to remain silent and still, even as Sid was daringly close to discovering who they were, even as he realized it was already too late.

"But maybe someone who isn't allowed here. Say, a silver-eyed half-monster of a witch. I bet she could." With a dramatic flourish Clare's cloak was yanked from her shoulders and cast to the floor. Sid grabbed her by the chin and thrust her face up. Raki's heart leaped into his throat. But Sid's confidence was quickly eroded by confusion.

Clare was staring back at him with beautiful green eyes. Sid balked at them.

_Good_, the tension in Raki's shoulders slowly unwound, _She took the pills just in time_.

But Sid wasn't easily dissuaded. "Tch," He clucked, "Your eyes don't look silver." His gaze raked over the rest of her, "What a good-looking girl," The remark was accompanied with an unctuous smile. "But," He leaned in, daringly close, his breath hitting her mouth as he talked, the indent of his thumb still on her cheek and his finger curled over her chin. "We fought a half-breed who dirtied her body with monster flesh. It wouldn't be surprising if she could change the color of her eyes, now would it? **OUCH**-!"

Sid reeled back but Raki held on, his teeth clamped onto the offending arm. "What are you doing, you little runt?!" Sid wrestled his arm back, . That had damn _hurt_. He noticed not one of his fellow guards lifted a single finger to restrain that mongrel. He'd remember that.

Raki stood in the way. "Shut up!" He shouted. "Who are you calling a runt, you pumpkin head!"

"Wh-what!"

"Who do you think you are talking to my sister like that!? She's the kindest, most gentle person I know! Stop talking to her like you know her, because you _don't_!"

The impassioned earnest that fueled Raki's anger took Clare by surprise.

"You little runt!" Sid clenched his teeth and aimed to backhand the insolence from Raki's expression. But Galk stopped him short. "Galk..." Sid looked over his shoulder, his eyes traveling from the gauntlet around his narrow wrist to his friend's stern face. It was hard to read Galk, and the guy hadn't said a word after they had entered the inn.

"Let's go." Galk released the wrist and turned from the room. "We're done here."

The three guards seemed uncertain. "But..." There was no use arguing against Galk, who outranked them to begin with; and the tenor that ran deep in his voice hardly left room for argument. If his order was to dismiss the arrest, it was obeyed. The men filed from the room, Sid at the rear; he honed a scornful glare at the supposed brother and sister from over his shoulder as he left. To him, this was not finished. His suspicions were not so easily dismissed. The door was slammed shut after him and the heavy clomping of their gait receded down the corridor from where they'd come.

"Tch, what a jerk!" Raki pushed up his sleeve like he was ready and rearing to fight for Clare's honor. "Next time I'll show him something!"

Clare watched him closely. Raki lowered his fists and returned her stare with a uncomprehensive blink. "Huh? What?"

"Hmm, nothing, it's just... You came out with that nonsense so quickly."

"Huh?"

"What you said to that foolish man was a bit much, wasn't it?"

"Oh, that. Well... Although the part about you being my sister was a lie, I meant it when I said you were kind and gentle and have a good soul is something I really do believe that about you, Clare." Raki smiled. No doubt he truly believed it.

For a moment Clare said nothing. Then, "Even if... that man had hit you, I wouldn't have stopped him."

"Eh?"

"Even if it was aimed at me, I wouldn't have done anything. If my life isn't in danger and my mission isn't at risk,, I will not interfere." Clare was looking elsewhere, at something Raki didn't see. Perhaps recalling an earlier conversation, a particular supplication she had made the previous night. "If you're looking for kindness from me, give it up. You'll be hurt when you are eventually betrayed."

Raki stared, "C-Clare..."

"I've discussed it with a priest already. If you like Rabona, you will have the choice of staying here. Remember that."

*

The horrors of the night had slipped back into hiding. It was a new day, fresh and cool and blue. Vendors and townsfolk enlivened the market streets, going about their day in blissful ignorance of the abomination lurking within Man's most sacred relic.  
Clare had returned to the chapel of Father Vincent the same afternoon Sid and Galk had paid her a visit in kind. From the sound of it, the yoma attacks were worsening. There was no time to be wasted; if this demon was not killed immediately, the risk of its existence becoming public was a certainty. When this many men died, people noticed.

Clare didn't notice the chill of the stone floor while she knelt before the Father. With the kaleidoscope colors filtering in through the high rose windows, she looked the saint. But it was all Father Vincent could do to corroborate such blasphemy in the face of the half-demon, his hand raised in reverence to prayer. He was not reciting but conspiring, as the only living soul privy to Clare's nature as a Silver-Eyed Witch.

"Last night, two guards were victims. And it happened within the walls of this cathedral, like the other times."

"And the two soldiers," Clare spoke softly, "were their internal organs consumed as well?"

"Yes. There are more victims every day. This week alone there have been five."

"It seems to have a voracious appetite." That meant something to the Claymore.

"V-Voracious appetite?" He stammered the foreboding words. He managed to keep his hand upraised and none of the faithful worshiping in the chamber with them noticed the disturbing pallor of their revered Father.

"Usually, yoma don't eat much. It's enough for them to eat the guts of a human once every week or two. But the longer a monster lives, the more its appetite grows. They get more cunning, and stronger. We call them 'Voracious Eaters'. I'm afraid one of them is hiding in the cathedral. It knows that my kind can't come here... and that we're the only ones who can find them."

That news was harrowing. Humans had always been prayed upon by yoma. It took so much courage to live out every day. That humanity had to resort to creating half-breed monsters to protect themselves was a necessity, yet their most desperate measures could still fail. The idea of a Voracious Eater made all effort seem a delusion.

"Will... Will we be all right... against a creature like that?"  
"I need facts," Clare ignored the question, "The names of everyone who came and went from the cathedral last night."

"No one could come or go. After the killings started, the cathedral has been completely sealed off at night. Only the priests and monks were here, and a few soldiers chosen for guard duty."

Clare gazed at the floor, her hands still united in prayer. But her thoughts didn't dwell on the spiritual. She remembered her brush with Galk and Sid on the roof the night before. _Those two guards showed how hard it is to sneak in and out unnoticed. I havwe to assume it's somebody on the inside._

"In that case," She replied, "I'd like to know who was here last night."

"Of course. Bishop Kamuri was in the sanctuary. He has been with the cathedral the longest, and holds the highest rank. Father Rodo is usually at his side. He, too, has been in Rabona for a long time, and is an aide to Bishop Kamuri. Also in the sanctuary were the monks Pizan and Rudo. The others were Father Serene, Father Orugo and Father Pario. And the monks Kaiseru and Tenesu. That's ten people altogether. The soldiers are rotated regularly. Most stand watch at the sanctuary entrance. Captain Ganesu is there often."

"Good." With a swish of cloak as she slowly rose, Clare stood on her feet to conclude their secret meeting. "Be careful around those people."

"But... You're not saying it's one of them? They're all people I trust."

"Abandon your notions," The Claymore advised, turning away, "A yoma in disguise can fool even family members." She left the Father with that disconcerting knowledge.

_I still don't understand why it stays inside the cathedral. Once it sneaked into the Holy City, it would roam outside the cathedral. Why would it limit itself to such a confined area? How can it be so confident that it won't be found out? That's the question._

_I feel like I've forgotten something vital..._

*

It was after curfew, every window dark and every street empty. Darkness blanketed Rabona, but vigilant men kept watchful. So when a figure dashed from one rooftop to another, Galk noticed.

"Something moved," He informed Sid.

"Must be that girl." Sid smiled slyly. This was the opportunity to prove his suspicions about that foreign woman was right.

"Let's go." Galk set the pace at a run, "She's headed for the cathedral!"

It wasn't long until the hooded figure's second foray across the city rooftops came to a halt. The persistent guardsmen Galk and Sid blocked the way forward and the way back. The woman in the cloak was forced to stop. A breeze buffeted her cloak, snapping it around her waist.

"Heh heh," Sid snickered, "Leaping across rooftops isn't as fast as running on the ground." They caught up to her so quickly, her speed meant nothing when she was hopping between houses! There was the sound of scraping steel as Galk drew his sword from its sheath. "All right," Sid wet his bottom lip, anticipating, "No more excuses, kind and gentle sister." The rouse was up!

The wind ruffled the woman's hood, sliding it back from the crown of her pale hair. Her eyes stood apart from the shadows. Their startling clarity drew stares from the men, momentarily taken aback. Sid recovered first, "Ha, this time you showed your silver eyes. Even your face looks different from this afternoon." But he was certain, with no shadow of doubt, this was their girl from the inn. Of course he had been right! She was a Claymore!

The Claymore extended her arms from her cloak and the two long dirks she held were the next to flash in the moonlight. "Sorry, but I don't have time." She didn't look at either man as she warned them, "I won't hold back if you get in my way. If you're going to come at me, go ahead."

The challenge reached into Galk and rattled him. Creases dug deep between his eyes. He allowed nothing to intimidate him!

"Heh heh, so you've shown your true colors." It didn't surprise Sid. He smirked, looking weaselly as ever, and plucked up a dagger between his fingers. "You have the aura of monster, Witch, even though you're only a half-breed. Sorry, but the law here says that anything unholy must be eliminated." Sid sounded anything but sorry.

"Now!"

The two men attacked. The Claymore moved quickly, deflecting the onslaught of throwing knives with the sweep of a single dirk. The two soldiers failed to provide an opening for Galk to end the fight quickly; the Claymore dropped to one knee and crossed her twin dirks to obstruct his sword's descent. She managed it, easily; although her arms looked slender and Galk was piling more than two-hundred pounds behind every swing.  
With a deft turn of her dirks, the Claymore shifted the flat of his blade away from her, creating an opportunity to lashed her fist forward. Galk thrust his arm up in time, letting his vambrace take the hit.

"Take this!" Sid clenched his teeth and sent a triad of daggers whistling toward her back. Without even acknowledging him, the Claymore parried every blade with lightning-quick reflexes, while still holding off Galk with her other dirk.

"Damn!" Galk grunted. He'd never encountered a Claymore before this but he hadn't expected this. He swung his sword with both arms and the Claymore flipped away and landed up the slope of the roof. The men pursued, "Damn her swords!" Sid complained, "Can't we do something?"

"I know," Galk said, acknowledging that the Claymore was just too formidable with both dirks in her possession. He would have to rectify that. "Here goes." With a bellicose cry, the knight closed the distance between himself and the Claymore, swinging his sword at her from the front with one hand. Just as before, she blocked the path of his sword with both dirks, like he expected her to.

When the Claymore slipped past his defense, lacing her blade at his throat, Galk had been ready for it. He snatched his spare hand out and clenched the dirk between his fingers. The blade's sharp edge sliced through the rough leather of his glove and the jointed plates of his gauntlet, drawing blood.  
A look of genuine surprise swept up Clare's features as she saw the blood erupt from between Galk's clenched knuckles. The point of such a crude maneuver escaped her. While her guard was down, Sid skidded into place behind her and another set of daggers flying for her undefended flank. With Galk controlling one of the Claymore's arms, he was definitely going to land his mark!

The daggers went ricocheting into the night. With the shrug of her whole body, the Claymore had snapped her cloak outward and...

"What?!" Sid cried.

"Her cloak deflected the path of all those knives." Galk realized, his eyes wide, his perturbation evident. Now catching him by surprise, the Claymore kicked with force, her foot landing square on his crotch. Even a hardy warrior like Galk had to submit to that kind of pain.

With nearly every holster – obvious and discreetly belted on his person – Sid resorted to the cinquedea dagger hidden in a leather sheath at his lower back. But by the time he'd drawn it, the Claymore had withdrawn from Galk and landed atop the steeple of a gabled roof far from their reach. Her gaze burned through the gloom, both bewitching and dangerous.

"So... That's... a Silver-Eyed Witch." Sid realized they may have never have had a chance at defeating her, "A Claymore!"

"**KYAAAAAAA!**" A curdling scream ripped through the false quiet.

Sid whipped his head to the left and right. "What was that?!"

"The cathedral!" Galk bellowed. In that instant, the Claymore was gone.

"Damn! She's getting away!" Sid shouted.

Frightened guards stood before the cathedral's doors, gripping their halberds with both hands, praying that the sound they heard didn't belong to one of their own. But there was little chance for mistake.

"H-Hey, just now..."

"The sound came from inside the cathedral. It's inside. Let's go."

"But the law says that after dark..."

"That doesn't matter right now!"

One brave guardsman planted his hand on the heavy wooden door and pushed it. The doorway yawned open, looking as inviting as a death trap. As the men stared into the unlit nave, they felt a current of air push through them. "Huh...?" They barely caught a glimpse of a phantom before it was absorbed into the nave's total darkness. "Who...what was that...?"

After slipping through the guards at the entrance, Clare hastened to the heart of the cathedral. Her eyes were a fevered gold, their pupils narrowed to slits. _There is... a very strong aura. _She kept both dirks close in hand as she scanned the darkness. _Because of the side-effects of those pills, until now I hadn't been able to sense where the yoma is. But now... No, I can't tell where... Where is it?_

Clare paused in her search and looked down at her feet. There was blood, and a body laying with its face down in the mess. _A guardsman... _She knelt down to examine him. _His organs have been eaten_.

"Just as I thought," She said to herself, oblivious to the bright, hungry eyes glowing stronger in the darkness behind her, "This is a Voracious Eater..." She sensed the monster's yoki just as its fist came hurtling down. Clare's instincts thrust her away, but not unscathed. Blood washed a vivid red down her shoulder. Her landing lacked grace, but Clare was more concerned with sizing up her enemy.

"It's huge. How did a yoma become this large... And for one this big to sneak in..."

The creature towered, easily eight feet tall. Its body was roped with hardened muscle. Its arms and legs were long, granting it both reach and speed. Constitutionally it seemed impervious; it didn't even flinch when three daggers sailed out of the darkness and embedded themselves to the hilt in the superficial muscle of the yoma's neck.

Clare's golden eyes jerked toward the origin of the attack and was panicked to see those two humans had chased her all the way here.

"Wha-what the hell...?" Sids mouth remained hanging open. Without thinking, he had attacked that thing.

"Is... Is that a yoma?" The shock kept Galk's hands hanging at his sides.

"Y-Yeah."

"Don't come near here!" Clare's composure broke; her words crashed against the stone pillars, renting them broken and useless – and far too late. "You're not match for it!" But the yoma was already moving. It launched itself over Clare's head, charging for its transgressors, and the Claymore knew it would make short work of those humans if she allowed it to get close enough.

Stark fear had rooted the men to the floor. They couldn't flee, they couldn't move. They could only scream. Survival took a backseat to horror when you saw a yoma's eyes and a yoma's teeth blazing with a ferocity that far surpassed any wild animal. And this was no ordinary yoma to being with.

Galk and Sid's voices rose up in a clamor, yelling, as the creature barreled toward them.

Clare's body became the only thing barring the path. She appeared in the yoma's path, dirk raised. And then a magnificent rupture of Claymore blood choked the darkness.

scene V

**DARKNESS IN PARADISE**

part II

_end_


	7. The Overwhelming Darkness III

scene V

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

part III

****The Claymore's blood coated the darkness in red. The arrogant dagger-thrower Sid and Galk, a man of few words yet ample conviction, stood staring as the Claymore's body collapsed to the cold stone floor. She had been the only thing standing between them and that enormous yoma – a Voracious Eater.****

The yoma's claws dripped with Claymore blood. Its maw was yawning open, its tongue tasting the scent of blood on the air, whetting its hunger. A guttural growl hissed between the yoma's sharp, exposed teeth as it set its burning gaze on the pittance of human men.****

"Wh... What... the hell?" A cold sweat dampened Sid's fair hair to his forehead. "Is that a yoma? Where could it have been...?" His stunned gaze took in the Claymore that had just fallen in battle, cloak laying over her prone body. The pool of blood beneath her was still spreading, getting bigger. Too much blood to lose, and still live. Words completely failed Sid then. The Claymore was dead. She had killed herself to protect them. It didn't make sense to him; Claymore were half-monsters.****

"Here it comes!" Galk shouted, raising his sword, reclaiming his senses. ****

With a snarl the yoma charged across the empty cathedral hall at them. It was almost on top of them in no time. "D-Damn, my sword won't-" Sid struggled to remove the cinquedea stuck in its sheathe at his lower back.****

Sid would have been half-eaten by the time he'd freed the dagger. The only reason Sid stayed alive was that the yoma had jerked to a stop. There was a dirk in its eye. The long knife was plunged halfway up the blade. When the yoma realized this, it screamed in pain and outrage.****

The men stared, Sid's mouth falling open, as they saw the Claymore on her feet again, alive. Her chest cliimbed and plummeted as she grappled with every new, painful breath, snatching lungfuls of air where she could. Her posture suggested she was prepared to push this fight even further, but she looked to be in bad shape. Still...****

Galk and Sid stared.****

With a sickening sound of pulpy tissue sucking around the long knife, the yoma yanked it free from the socket. Blood coursed freely. But the yoma didn't look hurt. It looked _angry_. With a thrust of its muscle-strapped legs, the monster seemed to next disappear.****

"It's gone!" Sid shouted.****

The Claymore spun around, one heel anchored to the floor as her other lashed out. The precision of her kick landed her foot square in Sid's gut and the weasel staggered back. "Hey!" Sid choked on his fury, "Why did you-"****

_WHAM!_****

Enormous chunks of masonry erupted beneath the maul-like fists of the yoma. Its clenched hands were buried in the floor where Sid had been standing moments before. The Claymore used her momentum to thrust her dirk at the yoma, but the monster was just as fast. It blocked with its own flesh and blood, letting the blade carve into its forearm.****

Galk saw this as an opening to attack. The Claymore saw Galk making his move."Stay back! There's nothing you can do!"****

Galk wouldn't have believed that. He had to witness it himself, the futility of man against monster. And even then; one sweep of the yoma's arm shattered the knight's bastard sword and still, Galk couldn't quite grasp it had happened. He stood looking at the jagged blade, the hilt still tightly gripped in both gauntlets, even as the yoma spread its fingers and shot them forward like pikemen would thrust a spear.****

Although these humans were nothing but trouble, who were deaf to the Claymore's urgent commands, still she sought to protect them. Galk would have had four gaping holes in his head to go with that scar by his eye, if the Claymore hadn't dropped on top of the yoma's arm with her entire body. Her knees pinned its limb to the floor, her dirk sliding into the muscle to extend that effort, forcing its lethal digits to go astray of its mark.****

"Run!" She managed to shout, "Get out of the way!"****

It was good advice. But too late for the Claymore to follow suit; she seemed to have forgotten how equally deadly the yoma's other hand was, and she had allowed that hand full mobility. A mistake. It wasn't the first time Clare experienced pain, then. Egon forest wasn't a distant memory. But this...****

The yoma's lancet-like fingers pushed through her chest and exited out her back, puncturing her lungs and threatening to clip her heart free of its bindings, like a plucked apple. She had saved the human. It was only her blood she saw, her own blood she smelled and tasted. But there was no condolence in that. As her body was lifted into the air by the bare-bone strength of the Voracious Eater's claw, she could find none. She had failed her mission. Clare really would die this time.****

"What..." Galk and Sid witnessed it all. They saw the shock on her face, mirroring their own. The monster flexed its fingers, which became pliable, and allowed the Claymore's body to slide free. She landed on her back, unconscious if not dead, the horrible punctures in her chest soaking her dark clothing. There couldn't have been much left in her veins.****

The throb of yoki emanating from the yoma was almost tangible, perceptible even to the humans. Galk and Sid stood useless in the face of it, their ability to turn and run arrested by the yoma's fixated stare. Certainly, they would live only as long as the creature chose to toy with them. It would crack open armor like a tin can and suck the insides out like it was a delightful game...****

"Hurry!" Voices shouted from unseen corridors, "Did you round up every available soldier?"****

"Yes sir!"****

Guards began crowding the archway of the nave, spilling inside as their numbers welled. Sid recognized some of those voices. It was their reinforcements!****

When the knights caught sight of the Voracious Eater, their voices fractured into shouts of alarm. In no condition to take on a host of soldiers, the injured yoma regrettably leaped into the shadows hanging between the columns and escaped.****

"Galk!" Their comrades clanked their way into the great hall. "Sid? Are you okay?"****

Sid's brows were knotted in consternation, his teeth clenched and bared as he entertained how infuriating the yoma's escape was, now that they finally had enough power to take it on. Where on earth it was hiding inside the cathedral, they still didn't know. Sid looked over as Galk walked away from him. Galk and went to stand over the Claymore's body.****

"Is she dead?" Sid moved to stand behind Galk, as the knight bent to one knee. Sid had just assumed she was. No one could survive those wounds. Not that he cared all that much. Sid sounded as unconcerned as he felt. The yoma had always been the guardmen's responsibility. They never asked for a Claymore's involvement.****

Galk bent down and put his ear to the woman's chest. He listened intently. "No," He finally answered, "Her heart's still beating." He scooped his arms beneath her body and stood.****

"Galk! What are you doing? Why don't you just forget about her?" Sid exclaimed, "She's part monster!" That was the scandal. That was what made everything about this different.****

"She saved my life. I owe her. Even if she is part monster."****

Sid shut up.

****In the morning, Raki sat up in bed and saw that the bedroom was empty. He'd thought he'd heard something. It had awoken him. "Clare? Is that you?" The chair by the window was vacant. She hadn't returned.****

Raki ran down the stairs, his feet beating creaks out of the wooden boards. His hair was still mussed from the pillow even when he'd made it to the table the inn-master sat behind. "Hey mister, is my sister back yet?" The man looked surprised to see Raki – but then, the inn-keeper always looked surprised with that white tuft of hair standing straight up on his head.****

"Eh? Your sister?"****

"She's not here!" Raki exclaimed, panic rising.****

"But you came in together last night." He'd told the foreign travelers about the city curfew. "How could...?"****

Raki recalled that warning. Only he knew that Clare had gone out into the city streets after dark despite the city law. Was he about to blow Clare's cover? "Eh... uh..." As Raki fumbled, he didn't hear the inn's front door open behind him.****

When a hand curled its fingers into Raki's hair, his dilemma with the inn-keeper dropped to the bottom of his list of things to worry about.****

"You, boy," Sid said in a chilly voice, "Come with me."****

Raki twisted against the grip on his hair to get a look at the guy talking, even though he knew just who he'd find looking down at him.****

"Let me go!" Raki defiantly thrashed his arm, freeing himself from the weasel. "Come to finish what you started last night, huh? I won't let you lay a finger on my sister! Got that, pumpkin head?!"****

Sid was all too willing to shut the impertinent brat up the quickest, most efficient way he knew. Raki's head snapped to the side under the abrupt force of Sid's fist, as the slender guardsman landed a punch on Raki's cheek. Raki crashed to the ground, the room tilting away from him.****

"Hey! Stop that!" The concerned inn-keeper stood up from his chair. But the insignia on etched into Sid's leather vestment, proclaimed his status as a Rabona soldier and so the old man did not further interfere.****

"Ugh," Raki sat up, grimacing past his dizziness at Sid, "What was that for?"****

"Get your things." Sid ignored the question, "I'll take you to your sister."**  
**Raki quickly got to his feet. "How do you know where she is?" He blurted.****

"Shut up and follow me." An icy glare accompanied the coolness that had slid back into Sid's voice. "You want to hear her dying words, don't you?"

****Raki was taken to the cathedral. He followed Sid not because he wanted to, but because he had no choice. If he was the only person who knew where Clare was, then he'd bow his head and go anywhere he had to to meet her. He watched his own feet while moving through the connecting corridors, up winding stairs, through rooms that were cold and unfeeling with their tapestries and statuettes looking flat and colorless. Humans sacrificed so much for the promise of security; but how well has that worked out, when a Voracious Eater has proven Rabona's walls and swords are only delusions?****

How could Raki ever accept it, if Clare has thrown her life away for these selfish people? Raki tried to keep his dark thoughts at bay. No way could Clare die, she was just too strong. Until he saw for himself, he would never believe it. And so Sid had an obedient boy following on his heels. The marksman finally stopped in front of a door and opened it.****

There she was. Lying so still atop the unruffled sheet of a priest's hard, plain bed. Clare could have been a painting of the goddess herself. Daylight caressed her, tendrils of sunlight glowing through the rosy window, dusting her cheeks a mocking shade of pink - a color reserved for the living, not a corpse. She was so pale, like a statue carved from opal.****

"C... Clare..."****

Raki ran to be by her side. She didn't move, she didn't seem to sense his presence. That scared him. "Clare! Wake up! Say something!"****

Not a twitch of her lashes betrayed that she'd heard him, was simply pretending, that she wasn't already out of his reach.****

"Father, what happened?" Too shocked and angry for tears, Raki turned on Father Vincent. "Is she all right?" He demanded, "Well?"****

"I tried to help, but given her physiology I didn't know what to do. All I could do was bandage her wounds." Guilt caused the priest to avert his eyes.****

"But..." Raki's mind spun. Without better treatment, Clare really was going to die! "Then Clare -"****

"-will die." Sid read his mind, with a certain relish that was nigh sadistic. Even Father Vincent heard it in his tone and turned to look at Sid. The marksman had his arms folded and stood beside the taller, more powerful Galk. "Like I say, she's dying. Treating her won't do more than comfort her." The corner of his mouth curled, "It's just monsters and half-breeds killing each other. Nothing to get worked up about."****

Raki turned and slammed his fist across Sid's jaw. The kid had lashed out so fast, even Galk raised his eyebrows in surprise. Raki was easily half the size of Sid, and Sid rarely dwarfed anyone.****

"Damn..." Sid stayed on his feet. He cradled his jaw with one hand. For an insolent pipsqueak like this to actually hit him, it was an insult to pride. "Y-You..."****

"Shut your mouth! What do _you_know about Clare?!" The tingle and burn in Raki's fist hadn't satisfy him. He was fired up, ready for more. He'd take on all the injustices Clare had to face from ungrateful humans!****

"She's prepared to die fighting!" He shouted, "She's risking her life to protect us humans!"****

"You little-!" The preachy little shit! Sid shut him up with a retaliating blow across Raki's own jaw. The kid would have matching bruises and a swollen face after Sid decided he was done with him!****

But Raki fought back. His fist connected, but however hurt and mad he was, his punches lacked the potency to defeat the weasel. Though Sid did back off, a concerned hand gingerly addressing his handsome face.****

"Clare took me in when a yoma killed my family. My village threw me out. When I had no one left, she said I could come with her! Do you have any idea how happy that made me?! Clare is kinder and more gentle than any regular person!" Tears swelled and ran hot but did not weaken the judgment blazing in Raki's eyes, and perhaps that's what egged Sid.****

One last, powerful punch threw Raki across the floor and his formerly bold words garbled into groans of pain.****

"Tch." The corner of Sid's mouth was dabbed in blood and his cheek already showed signs of swelling. Sid glared down at the kid. "This is pathetic. I'm going back to my post." He walked as if he lived above the barbarism of disputing with fists, as if he'd been in perfect control all the time, and let himself out of the priest's chamber with a far more telling slam of the door behind him.****

Galk had never said a word the whole debacle. It wasn't unusual for Sid to work himself up like that. Father Vincent remained stationary for less certain reasons. But now that the violence had come to an end, the Father went to Raki's side. The boy had managed to prop himself up against the wall, his legs slumped across the floor in defeat.****

"Are you all right, my boy?"****

Raki tried hard not to sob, grinding his teeth together and squeezing his eyes instead, but still he cried. For his loss, or perhaps for Clare? Galk wouldn't let him mourn already.****

"Stop crying." The knight commanded. "It's not over yet."****

Raki looked up.****

"I owe her my life too." Galk's admission created a pause. "I can't let her die before I've paid my debt. A faithful heart draws strength. However faintly it may beat, there's still hope." He turned a stern eye sharply down at Raki. "So have faith! It's the only way to help her!"****

Raki somberly nodded, his cheeks still wet, his nose still dripping red. ****

Night crept over Rabona. By then, only Raki remained at Clare's beside. He remained kneeling on the floor, his elbows sunk into the edge of the bed with his hands entwined tightly together, eyed closed in ardent prayer.****

Father Vincent found the boy this way each time he entered the tower room to appraise the condition of the Claymore. He had noticed the scrapes on the boy's hands. Raki hadn't bothered bandaging his own injuries, inflicted by Sid. He chose to pour himself into praying for Clare instead. Was it coincidence that it worked?****

Clare finally opened her eyes. Somehow, Raki sensed it and opened his.****

"Clare!" Eagerly he tried to pull himself up, though his legs were cold and hardened. "Clare, you're awake! Clare!" He looked into the Claymore's flat silver eyes and cried with relief.****

"Raki..."****

Legs buckled and Raki willingly collapsed at the bedside, burying his face. "Clare! Thank the Lord! Clare... Clare...!"****

Was this real? Could Raki really be... so... _happy_that she was alive? She stared and listened to his grateful sobs. She had never met a human that could truly care about a Claymore, as Raki seemed to. They were truly rare...****

"Oh, you're awake!" Father Vincent entered, summoned by Raki's cries. "Thank the Lord!"****

"I'm sorry Father," Clare looked up at the priest as he approached the bed. "I've been an inconvenience."****

"No, how could you say that? It's great that you're conscious now."****

Her pale blond hair shifted against the pillow as she turned her head. She spoke over the small sniffles that escaped from the blanket and Raki's face pressed there. "During the days that I was unconscious, what happened? Can you please tell me the situation?"****

"Of course; you have been out for two days. When Galk and Sid were carrying you back, I spotted them and had them put you here in my room. Since then, Raki was constantly by your side and has been praying diligently for you to wake up." Father Vincent smiled.****

Clare considered this for a long moment. Then, her hand appeared and she gently touched Raki's hair. ****

"Forgive me, Father. I have a favor to ask..."

scene V

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

part III

_end_


	8. The Overwhelming Darkness IV

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

scene V, part IV

****

Footsteps whispered through the stone hallways like guarded secrets as two priests timidly moved through its darkness.****

"Ah, Father Serene," One priest greeted, as the two men espied one another. "You too?"****

"Father Pario," Aged lines crinkled at the corners of the elder priest's eyes as he squinted in the meager light. Both men of the cloth were with armed escort. A single torch illuminated their journey through the cathedral. "Were you...?"****

Pario nodded; there could only be the same reason why they would be out of their room. "I was called to the Great Hall. But it's in the middle of the night!"****

"I was too." ****

The men walked together. "I just now got the news from the guards." Roused in the middle of the night was an unusual and alarming experience. The priests had reason to be wary; there was a yoma hiding within the cathedral's sacred walls and it had been feasting on the Lord's servants almost nightly.****

"But why the Great Hall?" Pario shook his head, just as they approached the Hall's large double doors.****

"Indeed," Serene agreed, bemused. "It's just a big empty room, out of the way of anything worth noting."****

Pario opened one of the doors, expecting to see just that; a vacant room of drab stone. But the priests saw it differently that night. The Great Hall was filled with people. Guards that had been brought in from the city streets lined the room like imposing statues, but the halberds in their fists were far from ornamental. ****

"What in the world..." The priests uttered to each other as they walked between the two rows of soldiers, who did not move the slightest, not even turning their heads. They seemed to be waiting for something, obeying someone's authority to the letter.****

At the far end of the room other priests were gathered. They shared the same looks on their faces as the last to arrive did. Concern, apprehension. ****

"Father Serene, Father Pario," Another man of the cloth greeted them. He had deep lines etched into his face and a prominent baldness at the top of his long gray hair.****

"Father Rodo!" ****

"What is going on?" Pario demanded from their fellow priest. "Why have all the priests and monks been brought here?"****

"I don't know."****

"Forgive the suddenness of my request-" Father Vincent's voice suddenly interrupted, "For now please do as I say."****

"Father Vincent!" ****

The priests realized the architect of this clandestine meeting with confusion. Just what was the meaning of this? Who gave a Father such authority as to drag his brothers from their rooms at this hour?****

"Is this all your doing?" Father Rodo took charge, giving the accusation voice. "What is going on?" The question sketched itself on every man's face. Those without indignant anger meekly chewed their mouths instead.****

"We are inspecting for yoma." Father Vincent's even, straightforward reply made his statement difficult to grasp.****

"Y-Yoma?" Rodo paled. The implication began to set in, and Rodo was beside himself with insult, "This is outrageous!" He cried, "Do you expect me to believe that a monster is hiding among us?"****

"Sadly with things as they are, I cannot think otherwise." Vincent replied.****

"Fa-Father Vincent!" Rodo gaped. For a Father to believe that the Lord's earthly servants could be overtaken or possessed by demons was abominable! It was heresy! It would rock the Faith! Yet Father Vincent truly seemed to believe that it wasn't just possible, it was indeed happening.****

"Obviously you're all aware that all of the victims were killed late at night, here inside the cathedral. We should have done this back then when all of this started."****

"But who could recognize the yoma?" Father Rodo denied the very notion! The villagers of Doga had said the same thing. Everyone knew that humans could not see past a yoma's disguise. "This monster hunt of yours is all talk! No human can see through to the monster's true form!"****

In answer to that, a hooded figure who had stood behind Father Vincent stepped forward. A pale hand with slender fingers reached up to pull back their hood. The beautiful, cold, austere face of a woman was revealed. ****

"Silver eyes!" A collective gasp of horror choked the hall.****

"It's a Silver-Eyed Witch!" Monks cried.****

"Vincent! How could you bring us this blood-thirsty creature?!"****

"Are you mad?!"****

"I will gladly hear your complaints later," Father Vincent frowned, "But given the seriousness of the situation, there's no time to lose."****

"Er..." Father Pario bit his tongue.****

"What... is the meaning of this?" A weathered man of great distinction had come among the gathered flock of priests and monks. His vestments immediately set him apart in rank and favor, as he wore a double-layered mozzetta and the exclusive pectoral cross of Rabona that was obscured by the strands of his ancient gray beard.****

"Bishop Kamuri!"****

The Bishop was flanked by two elite city guards: Sid the marksman and Galk the legionary. ****

When Father Rodo laid eyes on their honored bishop, the highest office in Rabona, in the custody of the guard as if his holy station were in question, Rodo succumbed to an irate state. "Father Vincent! How could you include the Bishop in your search? This is inexcusable! Simply inexcusable!" He took an angry step forward.****

The _clang_of many halberds shifting inside the grip of many steel gauntlets rang against the high walls of the Great Hall. The priests and monks looked around themselves at the lethal points on the ends of those staves. The question of whether they were under protection or under scrutiny was unpleasantly answered. Those halberds were pointed at _them_.****

"Vin-Vincent..." Rodo swallowed, his cheeks blotched with offended color, "How could you..."****

Father Vincent tried to ignore the cold sensation of guilt worming its way through him and he clenched his jaw in conviction. This was necessary, Vincent told himself. It was either this, or they all die one by one, at a time chosen by a filthy, ravenous demon. Their God would not be intervening on their behalf. _He_had to do something. "I accept full responsibility." Vincent stated as steadily as he could manage. "Therefore, I ask that you please cooperate!"****

The Claymore moved.****

She walked directly up to Father Rodo, who turned a ghostly pallor as the Claymore cupped his face with her deadly hands. Her unblinking eyes seemed to bore through him. Air stirred inside Rodo's mouth as he forgot to breathe. The priests surrounding them watched. Just what was she going to do to them all?****

"He's fine." Her hands returned to her sides.****

"Next!" A soldier instructed a priest to volunteer himself. The Claymore repeated her actions, her method for rooting out yoma; she seemed to be gazing at their auras or staring into their souls. Silver-Eyed Witches were known for being the only creatures in this world who could see through a yoman's trickery. Those silver eyes weren't human...****

As the Claymore passed the other priests through the trial, Galk approached Father Vincent. "Father, are you all right?" Galk had seen many shades of fear during his service as a guard. The priest wore a familiar one. It was the fear of being wrong, of being right, and being unprepared for what either would mean.****

"Yes, I'm fine Galk." The tension knotting together the lines on Vincent's brow eased only a little. "Don't worry." ****

Galk said nothing.****

"How is Raki?"****

"He's in the baptismal chamber on the first floor, as requested. He'll be safe there if things get out of hand."****

"You've been a great help," Vincent managed to smile, "If your soldiers hadn't cooperated, this wouldn't have been possible."****

"No," Galk looked down at the priest, "We felt we owed it to our fallen comrades. And the captain of the guard agreed."****

"Still, I worry about Clare," Vincent confessed. "She was badly injured and she only woke up today."****

"Did she say anything?" Galk issued a furtive glance at the Claymore.****

"Just that two days' rest was enough."****

"If she said that, I'm sure she's fine." Galk admired the Claymore's fortitude and battle prowess. "Being part monster, she probably heals faster than you think."****

"Yes... that's true..." But the priest did not look entirely convinced.****

A monk trembled as the Claymore touched him and he blanched when required to stare into her face. There was a demon's taint there, despoiling any earthly beauty. ****

"He's fine."****

"Next!"****

"Tch!" Sid hissed through clenched teeth. ****

Galk drew toward Sid, who leaned against a wall. "What's wrong? You seem nervous." ****

Sid appraised Galk's concern with unease. "I can't stand that girl." He scowled, "Who does that half-breed think she is? It's like we're following her orders!"****

"Officially, they're Father Vincent's orders. Not her's." Galk reminded him. Both men knew better.****

"I know that!" Sid's chin dipped, his gaze falling to the scratches on the stone floor. After a long pause, Sid skirted a glance up at his companion. "Are we really going to follow her plan?"****

Galk's returning gaze didn't waver. He spoke with as much bluntness; "You mean her holding the yoma in place while we lance them both together?" Galk's gaze considered the Claymore as he spoke; "I think she's serious. The boy and the priest said she was fine but... look at those wounds. Even if she finds the monster, she can't fight like she had before. That's why she chose the next best way. Like the boy said, she'll lay down her life to protect humans."****

"Hmph!" Sid scoffed, "She's crazy!" The marksman couldn't even look at her. He glared somewhere else, hating the idea that a half-monster, a Claymore, was capable of being... _noble_? ****

"He's fine." The Claymore allowed another monk to join the growing throng of men who had passed her inspection. There weren't many candidates left now for who could be the yoma. ****

_That's strange_, Clare took a moment to reflect, _They all have the scent of a yoma, but not the aura. And none are missing the right eye I poked out. Could it have grown back in just two days_? ****

It would have been an extraordinary feat for a yoma, even a Voracious Eater. Extraordinary, but not impossible? ****

_Only two left. Bishop Kimura...and... _****

"If you please, Your Excellency," A guard prompted Bishop Kimura to step forward for the Claymore's inspection. Father Rodo and Father Pario wore deeply disapproving and angry faces in protest, but could do nothing to interfere. They watched. All eyes in the Great Hall observed the Claymore rest her hands on the Bishop's wizened face and stare into the old man's clouded gray eyes.****

Clare's lips parted. _No... it's not him, either._****

"Are we done?" The Bishop asked.****

"...Yes," The Claymore answered with reluctance. ****

Galk straightened some. "Then..."****

Every halberd came to every side of Father Vincent, imprisoning him. ****

"What... What is the meaning of this?!" Shock rattled the words out of the Father.****

"I'm sorry, Father Vincent," Clare said, "But you're no different from the others. Even if you _are_the one who sent the request to the Organization. I could've examined you many times," She admitted, "But I was hardly in a condition to judge." She stepped forward, passing through a narrow gap between guardsmen. "Allow me."****

As she approached, fear blossomed inside Father Vincent. No longer was the Claymore assuredly on his side. If he was the only priest now under suspicion, would the Claymore see a demon in him? Was he insane to no longer believe he was safe?****

A dampness prickled along his skin as the Claymore met him toe to toe and enclosed the sides of his head with her hands. A bead of sweat trickled down his temple. She could squeeze, and his life would be extinguished. He perfectly understood why humans were so scared of Silver-Eyed Witches. The Claymore's silver eyes widened.****

_No!_She couldn't sense anything about Father Vincent. _If he's not the yoma, then..._****

Tense, Father Vincent's eyes followed the drift of Clare's hands as she slowly pulled back. "Is... is that it?" He rasped, throat gone dry.****

Guards looked at each other, relaxing their arms and shifting their halberds away. "It can't be. What does this mean? We cooperated because she said this would work!" Without a yoma to justify their actions, the guards were at risk of being rebuked by the church. ****

"Father Vincent!" Father Rodo thrusted a damning finger, "Did you think you could commit this outrage and get away with it?! Bringing that filthy Silver-Eyed Witch into this holy place, you'd better be prepared to face the consequences! "****

Father Vincent was stricken with dismay. He had been _wrong_. None of the priests or monks were the Voracious Eater in disguise. He had gambled away the respect of his colleagues and was no closer to saving them all from the monster. **  
**The Hall was filled with murmuring. ****

"Things are turning ugly," Galk plainly said to Sid as he still watched the Claymore from a distance. She looked almost human in her frustration. "We're the ones who secretly forced the priests to join the monster hunt. We'll be blamed for it too." There wasn't a trace of furor in his tone, unlike most of the other guardsmen. He was probably already thinking of what could be done next. This was why Sid preferred working with him.****

Meanwhile, as guards and priests exchanged uneasy glances, Clare's gaze remained unfocused but pointed toward the floor. _How can this be?_She asked herself. _The yoma has to be somewhere inside the cathedral! So why can't I find it? Did I miss something?_She thought she had considered every option, every variable. _Think, Clare! Think! __It can take any appearance to hide its true form, whether its a man or woman, priest or noble... the frailest child or the oldest man._****

Her eyes widened, as something stirred inside her, something unpleasant and undeniable as she grasped for the only answer that remained. _It could even be a dead body_! ****

Raki had no clue just what kind of danger he was in. In his opinion, boredom would kill him before any yoma got the chance. He'd be placed in the baptismal chamber under strict orders to stay put while Clare investigated all the priests. If Clare sniffed out the yoma and things got violent, they wanted him safe. He didn't argue. Staying alive sounded fine by him.****

Still, there was always room to complain.****

"Drat! How did I get so lucky to end up waiting by myself in a place like this?" He thunked himself down on the edge of an open sarcophagus. Religion sure was morbid. Why did they put so many disgusting dead priests on display around here? "This baptismal room has given me the creeps since we first got here." He considered fiddling around with the pack he'd brought, or the statue-shaped bundle he'd lugged there from the inn, but something else caught his attention.****

He felt his skin begin to crawl as he cast a glance inside the stone coffin he sat on. "What's this doing here?" Raki started to stand, before he freaked himself out too much. But his heel slipped and the whole of him fell backward, on top of that shriveled old mummy guy!****

"GYAHHHHH!" He screamed, nose-to-(mostly-still-there)-nose with a skeletal face. It looked brown and sunken like a rotting apple. Raki scrambled out of the sarcophagus. "This is why I don't like this place," He caught his breath, feeling a little silly for scaring himself like that. Good thing Clare wasn't around to hear him shriek. How embarrassing. Raki approached the coffin and took a better look at the body inside. "Yuck. A mummy's still creepy, even if it was an important person. How disgusting." Raki paused and looked up toward the ceiling. The arched rafters were completely hidden in darkness. "What's taking so long?" He wondered out-loud. "Aren't they done yet?"**  
**The corpse rose from its coffin.****

"I just hope Clare is okay."****

Veins bulged and dry, leathery skin stretched and softened over rapidly growing muscles. The corpse was changing into a yoma. A very big, very hungry one. Its sockets swelled with hideous yellow eyes. ****

Those black slits in their center both turned on Raki. The boy hadn't noticed anything was wrong. No evil whispers stirring up the hairs on his neck, no sense of doom. Human senses were so blunt, so unrefined. That's what made humans such easy prey, because they were so stupid, so weak. Raki couldn't feel the yoki that was twitching in the air just behind him.****

Not like Clare. ****

If the Claymore hadn't already figured out the yoma's hiding place, the yoki would have exposed it. Either way, this was a rescue that could arrive entirely too late. ****

_Raki..._

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

scene V, part IV

_end_


	9. The Overwhelming Darkness V

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

scene V, part V

****Raki didn't see the eye honed in on him in the dimly-lit cathedral chamber. He couldn't feel it, although its menace burned intently into the back of his head. ****

_I hope Clare's okay_, he thought to himself. Her investigation was taking longer than he thought. Maybe Clare found out which priest or monk had been the yoma in disguise? If that was the case, then he knew what Clare was up to now. A Claymore's purpose was to slay yoma.****

Clare was the toughest, strongest person Raki knew. So she should be finished killing that annoying monster soon, right?****

There was a sound behind him, like the slap of bare feet. Raki turned his head and looked. He almost didn't recognize the shape standing there. The corpse had climbed out of its stone coffin. But instead of a shriveled mummy it was... something else. Something that towered, with shoulders as broad as an ox cart, with arms as long as halberds, and teeth that belonged inside the maw of a vicious animal.****

Raki's mouth fell open. But it was the monster that screamed.****

_Wha...What..._He couldn't grasp what was happening. A yoma, here? Where had it been hiding? The coffin? It had been hiding inside the cathedral, pretending to be a dead body all this time...?****

Their eyes met. No. Raki saw the yoma only had one eye. Clare had put a dirk in the other one. The yoma was probably still angry about that. And it probably needed food if it was going to grow that other eye back. And yoma only ate fresh guts...****

The monster raised its clawed hand. Raki barely caught the blur of its arm sweep at him. The blow picked his slim body up and hurled him away. A stone column caught him in the back.****

The yoma's mouth split open wider as it made a sound that could only have been a cackle. Yoma did always enjoy playing with their food. The amused chortle was cut short, however, when a dirk's two-foot long blade embedded in its arm. ****

The yoma lowered its gaze and saw silver eyes fiercely staring back.****

Clare moved so fast that Raki hadn't yet been able to utter a single word. Her second dirk slashed upward to slit her foe's throat, but the yoma used its hand to stop the attack. No human could have possibly done that. To Raki, Clare's arms were a blur. Unfortunately, the yoma was just as fast. It was as if the two of them were operating in a different reality.****

The yoma could _think_fast too; Clare noticed it's lancet-like fingers on it's other hand coming for her head just in time to dodge. She sprung backward and the yoma's fingers cracked apart the chamber floor where she had just stood, better than any sledgehammer could have.****

She still managed to gracefully and purposefully land between Raki and her foe, on one bent knee.****

"Clare!" Raki cried, a smile breaking across his face.****

"Are you alright? Are you hurt?" A cursory glance over her shoulder offered Raki only a hint of her profile. ****

"I'm okay," He assured her, a hand on his head. That spot was a bit tender from hitting the column. "Just knocked around a little."****

Clare rose and shifted into an offensive stance. "While I distract him, you head straight for the door. Got that? I'll take care of him." ****

Suddenly, even taking Clare by surprise, the yoma narrowly missed hitting both of them with a second sweep of its deadly fingers that were as hard and thick as a leather whip. ****

Raki vividly recalled that awful dread that had lived in his stomach each day Clare lay motionless in the priest's bed. That feeling was slithering back and he fought to tamp it down. "No, wait!" Raki reached out and grasped the hem of Clare's short cloak. As the fabric pulled underneath his bent fingers, Clare's bandages were visibly wound around her chest. "You're still hurt. You can't..."****

Another ruthless crack of the yoma's fingers connected with the column behind them. A plume of dust enveloped the fractured stone. The sound of tumbling rocks echoed inside the chamber. The force flung Raki and Clare in different directions.****

"Ugh!" Raki felt the stone floor scrape at his skin through his clothes as he landed hard and slid.****

"Oh no!" Clare realized Raki had inadvertently made himself the prime target. What wolf wouldn't dine on a lamb without a flock?****

"Ahhhh! Ahhhhh!" Raki blanched at the hulking yoma launching itself at him.****

"Raki!" Clare shouted. The fight was happening too far away. She was still on her knees, she still hadn't moved. She wouldn't get there in time.****

Clare couldn't save Raki.****

But Galk could. The knight interloper arrived with a clang of his bastard sword to stay the monster's deadly hand. ****

"Urk!" Tremors wracked up and down Galk's arm as he strained to push back the yoma's weight. It was incredibly strong, its muscled physique deceptively dense. Galk had never faced anything like it. The man had to admit that he could not defeat it, only delay it.****

The monster didn't seem to be in a playful mood. To kill Galk quickly, the yoma wielded its long sharp claws like knives and slashed its free arm at Galk's undefended side.****

But rather than detach Galk's torso from the hip, the yoma's powerful swing strayed. From the corner of his eye, Galk counted three steel daggers sprouted up from the yoma's arm. No, not sprouted...****

Galk ducked under the yoma's arm and reinforced his stance, sword still raised, still pushing back. Indomitable. ****

"Run, boy!" Sid - still a weasel at heart, but a savior now too - shouted at Raki. Raki was jolted to his senses, but time continued to slow and race in a sickening lurch. He stumbled over his feet and scrambled away from the fight. The yoma noticed and it did not want its food out of reach. But when it tried to intercept Raki as the boy dashed around the edge of the fray, Clare was there to cage its arm with her dirk.****

"Clare!"****

"Don't look back!" Clare shouted at Raki. "Go!" Raki heeded her order and ran out of the room. ****

_Tch. _To the yoma, with his tasty prey fescaping, the battle was really too much of an inconvenience. Time to end it; the fingers around Galk's blade lanced out, its lethal points hurtling down from above like a hail of arrows.****

Clare made a motion to move.****

"Stay back! I don't need your help!" Galk twisted his wrist, trading the flat of his blade for its razor-sharp edge, and arced the sword to the floor. The sound of steel on stone from the zeal of Galk's swing was sharp. Two of the yoma's tendril fingers flopped to the floor.****

To think, a simple knight could harm a yoma like this. No. Galk couldn't be considered ordinary now.****

Even the yoma looked in disbelief at the stumps on its hand. That expression froze when three daggers flickered through the darkness and sank into its skull, temple and cervical. Blood ruptured.****

Clare whipped her eyes to the chamber doorway.****

"Don't you get it?" Sid smirked at her. "You can't protect everyone by yourself. You can barely protect the boy because of your wounds."****

Standing behind Sid, Raki looked appropriately frightened, even though he had thought to fetch help after running away. These knights Sid and Galk, however, were too fearless and brave for their own good. All of them could die tonight.****

"Who's town do you think this is? The soldiers here are the ones prepared to die for it." The chastisement twitched the corner of Sid's lips. "Don't even think about dying, because we won't protect the boy if you do."****

Clare stared.****

"You better fight for his sake and yours." Galk advised, not taking his eyes from the slouched figure of the yoma. The grip on the hilt of his sword bit through to his skin. "We'll do everything to stop the beast and protect the town. And if we die, so be it. We're the ones who will protect this holy place."****

And then they all moved at once, performing a terrible, bellicose dance with the monster. The sound of splitting flesh and the smell of dank blood masked their failure, as the warriors failed to deliver a killing blow time and again. This yoma was too formidable. This was a voracious eater. It seemed able to sense Clare coming; when she rained down from above, legs tucked and hands intently folded over the pommel of her dirk, eyes blazing gold, the yoma's head was vulnerable. But as she landed on the back of its shoulders, her knife only slid through its upraised hand. It blocked her again, even though she tapped into her yoki for extra speed!****

_Damn_, Clare cursed, _it won't reach_. The blade was inches too short before it would slice into the yoma's neck. She couldn't take its head. The yoma threw its arm and Clare flipped away and landed safely. If she couldn't outdo its speed with just this much yoki, then any human was definitely too slow and clumsy to get close enough. But it was all happening too fast for Clare to warn them; Galk was already charging in. In an instant he was laid flat on his back from one push of the yoma's arm. The clang of armor and his fallen sword a death knell.****

"No!" Sid cried, dismay triggering the launch of another three daggers. The yoma caught them all; or, that is to say, used the palm of his mangled hand as a sheath for the blades. It made it look like there wasn't any pain.****

Clare darted in from the yoma's flank, slashing with her dirk. But the blade caught in its hide, which was so tough it barely bit through the muscle at all. Clare's eyes widened. ****

"**How pathetically weak**," The yoma's teeth gnashed, "**Is that the best you can do, you limping half-breed?**"****

Shock raced across the Claymore's silver eyes. In that moment, as the yoma's gold eyes burned down at her with an excited, sadistic sheen, Clare realized things might only get worse.****

And then the yoma picked up Galk's sword. Clare seemed only able to stand there, her hand attached to the hilt of her dirk as if it were her own arm, unwilling to relinquish its pound of flesh in the monster's side. But as the yoma swung the sword down at her, she had to block it. Their blades crossed. A pained shock reverberated through Clare's arms as she had to push back with her own raw strength. The strain of the contest opened the wounds in her chest and three red blossoms spread across Clare's bandages. Clare clenched her jaw and wouldn't emit even a whimper.****

But Raki saw. "Clare!"****

**"****Ha ha ha! That was fun...****" **The yoma easily swung the bastard sword in a single hand, _whack whack whack_, forcing Clare on the defense. "**...posing as a mummy of a holy man and watching your priests run around like frightened chickens.****"******

_Whack, whack_. "**They may call themselves 'holy',**"_Whack, whack, whack,_"**But they are still only human.**"****

Raki couldn't watch Clare becoming cornered like this, only able to parry and deflect with her dirk. He could feel her frustration, her anger. It kindled his bravery; he knew he had to do something. Raki passed Sid and began a dash toward the battle. ****

"Hey! Come back!"****

Raki had no intention of listening. He had to protect Clare. To that end, there was something he could do. But when Galk stepped into Raki's way, the boy paused. "Stop!" Galk shouted, "There's nothing you can do!" This reality was writ in the contortions of the knight's face. Even he had to concede himself to this fact. "You'll only get yourself killed!"****

"You're wrong!" Raki exclaimed, "You've got to get this to Clare!" Only then did Galk notice Raki held a tall bundle in his arms. Galk accepted the bulky thing wrapped in cloth and tied with cord. It was heavy, like it was made of stone. "What's...? What good will this do?" His disciplined, unruffled demeanor was bewildered.****

"Just do it!" Raki balled his hands, desperate, "Hurry! Please, Galk!"****

A gut-clenching shatter of steel scattered pieces of Clare's dirk over the floor. The Claymore stared at the useless wooden handle in her grip.****

"**Ha ha ha! Your blade's gone. It's over!**"****

_Guwahh!_Galk channeled every pound of strength into his arms and with a hoarse yell sent Raki's delivery up over the head of the yoma. "Here, girl!" Clare nearly lost her footing as she caught the bundle with a heavy thunk. She pulled down its cloth flap covering on the top and looked at what was inside.****

"**What good is a statue?**"The yoma jeered, "**I'll cut down both of you!**"But rather than cleaving the beautiful stone maiden and the Claymore behind it both in half, the yoma's sword became stuck in the piece of art. Or, as if was being blocked by something invisible...? ****

"**Wha...?!**"The stone began to crack, crevices spreading out from the yoma's embedded sword. When Clare raised her hand and the statue crumbled, she grasped the long slender hilt of an immense claymore. So the sword had been hidden in that statute, all this time? That was how a Claymore was able to smuggle their signature sword into the holy city? Sid and Galk watched with open mouths. Raki's mouth was a lot wider; he'd done it, he'd helped Clare. The yoma stood, stuck in place by an alien sense of awe and dread, its single eye on that unmistakable sword. "**A... Claymore...**"****

"Now..." Clare's grip tightened, "The monster hunt can begin for real."

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

scene V, part V

_end_


	10. The Overwhelming Darkness VI

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

scene V, part VI

"And now... the monster hunt begins for real." The threat of silver eyes, as brilliant and deadly as a dagger's flash in the dark, narrowed on the yoma. No, this wasn't an ordinary yoma, from what the Claymore had been informed. This was a battle to the death with a _voracious eater_.****

The yoma's maw had fallen open and remained fixed there in a look of astonishment - and perhaps fostered a glimmer of fear. It, too, was realizing that it faced no ordinary creature. Because the sword in the Silver-Eyed Slayer's hand was a...****

**"****A... A Claymore...****" **The perturbed creature uttered, the very word rattling loose its confidence. As well as humans knew to fear and flee yoma, yoma likewise knew the terrible tales of what Claymore were capable of doing to their own kind. The knowledge didn't dampen the bravado of some, but for the decidedly weak, such as the flying yoma Clare encountered not long ago, would rather flee than face the power of a half-human, half-monster Claymore.****

Sid the marksman, Galk the legionnaire, and the Claymore's ward Raki had been all but robbed of their wits as they had watched the Claymore's sword break free of the hollow statue it was encased in. _So that's how the Claymore had smuggled her weapon in the holy city Rabona!_The five-foot-long sword had been inside that fake art piece, and when the yoma had used Galk's sword on it, instead unwittingly armed its most dangerous enemy...!****

Clare pulled the sword back, rotating her shoulder. Although the bandages wound around her chest were red and sticky, Clare showed no outward weakness. The hilt firmly grasped in both her hands did not waver. And then, before the dust began to settle over the chunks of plaster on the floor, the yoma charged.****

**"****Don't push your luck, girlie,****" **The yoma roared, Galk's sword raised above its head and a sneer distorting its hideous, one-eyed face, "**You won't get anywhere with just one sword!****" **- What arrogance! And yet a yoma's fortitude and constitution were beyond formidable for any knight, for any rabble of humans - it's remark was well-supported. Yoma could resemble a porcupine of skewering pikes, spears and blades without landing a vital hit. And then, yoma flesh had fathered the Claymore's own inherited ability to regenerate from wounds. Even reattaching limbs wasn't completely out of the question. ****

With two fingers still amiss on the monster's hand from Galk's earlier attack, the yoma smashed the sword down into the ground with enough force to cave in the floor.****

Raki cried out Clare's name, afraid her body was laying there as broken as the stones. But the yoma was wiser and with a growl seething through its clenched jaws, turned and succeeded to block the Claymore's swinging sword with its own. Another ambush foiled! But the Claymore's persistence was unnerving the otherwise confident yoma. It attempted to swipe at her with its free hand. Clare threw her legs over his sword and planted her heels into its eye sockets, kicked, and thrust herself into a graceful backward flip. Unable to see, the yoma's claw only raked at the empty air.****

**"****Ugh...****" **The yoma stumbled back a step, light and shadow doing a fierce dance inside its eye. "**You...!****" **Slashing indiscriminately with its sword, and the Claymore blocked it with her own. The impact of their respective strengths was like an explosion, and the Claymore sailed away from the clash. The yoma charged in pursuit. To control her stop, Clare stabbed her claymore into the ground and the stone was ripped apart until her momentum was spent. ****

Braced for the yoma's charge, its sudden decision to stop and send its fingers after her instead was a surprise. Already having proven to be lethal weapons in their own right, the yoma's fingers launched forward. Each one rooted itself in the stone floor as Clare narrowly evaded them, one after the other. Another frustrated growl tore from its mouth and the yoma sent the remaining fingers of his other hand after her next. One way or another, this Claymore would die tonight!****

As the Claymore dipped under the attack and sprinted forward, the blur of her pale hair was suffused with the golden-bronze of demon eyes. With this much yoki pulsing under her skin, the Claymore devoured the distance between she and her foe and within moments crouched at the yoma's feet. She swung her large, immense blade with a single hand.****

The yoma's own golden eye followed the trail of blood arcing into the air, back to the protruding stump of its shoulder. The missing arm, Galk's broadsword still in its lifeless grip, landed somewhere in the darkness with a _thunk_and a clatter. "**Gyaaahh!****"******

**"****Gah...ah...You...****" **Its eye rolled, the black slit finally settling on the Claymore's stoic stance. Its muscles twitched. The thick smell of blood was quickly enveloping the room. ****

A drop of sweat clung to Sid's chin. "That's..."****

**"**...Amazing," Galk echoed, "So this is the true power of a Claymore."****

**"**...No." Raki refuted, the statement turning Galk's head and drawing the man's surprised eyes. Raki knew better. And if any of them looked closely enough, they could detect the tremors of exertion quietly racking through the Claymore's arms and legs. Blood oozed from underneath layers of gauze. Beneath the furious growls and clash of steel, Clare was panting for breath. This was a laborious fight for her. ****

**"**Look, she's straining," Raki quietly pointed out, "She's fighting beyond her limits. That's why..."****

Naturally, the yoma saw all of this up close. And it was pleased enough to chuckle. "**What's wrong? You look pale.****" ******

Unsettled by the yoma's aplomb, the Claymore didn't strike.****

**"****I wondered why a Claymore would try so hard to show off. But I see now. You did that to make me panic so you could finish me off quickly. You're trying to avoid a long, drawn-out fight. You **_**missed**_**just now,****" **It's statements grew bolder as, yes, it knew with certainty it was correct. The diabolic fight in its eye was being rekindled. "**You weren't aiming for my arm... you wanted my **_**head**_**.****" ******

The Claymore took deep gulps of air, ignoring the sensation of blood crawling down the inside of her leg and seeping from between the fingers gripped around the hilt of her sword. A dearth of strength left to her had her thoughts reeling for some stratagem to turn this battle around. ****

She didn't realize she was hit until the yoma outburst, "**Ooh, a hit! This is no time to be daydreaming!****"******

**"**Ugh!" With her eyes on the rigid finger sticking through her shoulder, the Claymore moved to cut herself free, only to find her arm arrested in the very motion, as the yoma skewered that one, too. "Argh!" With her forearm punched through, and then the aligned bicep in the same manner, Clare was left with little mobility to negotiate. ****

**"****Too slow! Much too slow! Everything you do is too slow!****" ******

Raki watched in horror as the yoma picked Clare up with those two snakey fingers and held her so high overhead that only her pale limbs and fair hair were the brushstrokes against the ceiling's black canvas.****

**"****Like the view? Or are you afraid of heights?****" **Only stifled grunts answered the monster's resounding cackle. "**Well, you don't seem to be enjoying it. In that case, I'll let you down!****" **The sound of Clare's battered body being slammed into the stone floor extracted a half-scream from Raki.****

**"****Now, die!****"******

But the two lethal fingers sent to snatch away Clare's life punctured Galk's pauldron and vambrace instead, as Galk managed to throw himself to one knee in time to circumvent the attack. While the yoma grappled with its own surprise, Sid was already throwing himself at the knight's sword which had been left lying on the ground. ****

Sid seized the hilt and flung it into the air. "Galk!"****

Galk caught the sword and one moment later cut Clare free. With a yelp, the yoma detracted the tendrils of its hand, two more of its claws lost!****

**"**You all right? Can you stand?" Galk shouted at the prone Claymore, not taking his eyes off their opponent.****

Wincing, one eye furrowed in pain, Clare's hand fumbled through the bloody gravel to try to pull herself up. "Ugh..." ****

**"**I'm ashamed to say it," Admitted Galk, "But no matter how hard we fight we're no match for that thing, just as you said." And yet, what the man said next suffered no waver in courage: "Use our lives however you wish. Just make sure to _kill_that thing."****

Sid attacked next. The quick stroke of his fingers unclipped a dagger from the row on his belt, but before he could launch it, the yoma waved its spindly fingers and pierced one through his shoulder. Then another, tearing through Sid's leather jerkin like it was tissue. For a human, that pain was incredible. If there was any time to reflect on it, Sid might've had to own up to a new respect and admiration for Claymore, who he had watched endure so much worse. But for now, pain consumed him from the shoulder to the chest as muscle threatened to tear away from bone. He screamed, blood coating his lips.****

**"****Quiet!****" **The yoma demanded, annoyed by the screams, "**I should have killed you two from the start.****"******

**"**Yaaaah!" Galk bellowed as he charged with his sword. Unfazed, the monster withdrew his fingers from Sid with two wet noises and turned toward Galk, whose suit of armor protected him no better than Sid's jerkin had done him. All four of the yoma's fingers passed through Galk's shoulder, ribs and gut without fuss. "Guh-!" ****

**"****Did you think charging at me was enough, weaklings?!****" **The yoma was jubilant as Galk slumped toward the floor.****

Galk's woozy expression then suddenly hardened. "Now...! Do it!"****

The Claymore, readied, planted a foot on his back and launched herself up into the air. Her gold eyes blazed, her mouth opened in a furious cry. She descended. Betting everything on the strength of that devoted soldier beneath her heel.****

**"**Not bad, eh?" Galk gripped the appendages tighter as the monster tried to pull its hand free to defend itself with. A half-smile smattered in blood cracked at the corner of Galk's mouth. "For a _weakling_."****

**"****Why... you little...****" **But then the yoma was free; its other arm fell from its shoulder in a great wash of blood. Clare landed at its feet. But her calm shifted to alarm when the yoma leaped straight at her, ignoring the sword in its way. ****

_Did it just walk into my blade?_****

**"****Fool! No matter where you slice, you'll never hit my weak spot! And don't think you'll get another shot!****"******

She was too stunned to move, even as the yoma rushed for her, its eyes feral, its jaws driveling, and pushed the Claymore's sword through its own torso, with no regard for pain as it stepped closer. ****

**"**_Clare_!"****

And then the Claymore unleashed her yoki. The muscles running down her arm bulged, the contours hardened and rigid, roped with dilated veins. The yoma paused; it found itself staring into a face being ravaged by the violation of unnatural power. _This_was a monster. ****

The Silver-Eyed Slayer turned her wrist, the claymore twisting guts and popping organs with a new, grisly ease. "Is its head... the weak spot?"

****In one fluid upward stroke the sword split apart the monster's body.

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

scene V, part VI

_end_


	11. The Overwhelming Darkness VII

**THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS**

scene V, part VII

In a world of impossible things happening, perhaps the silence shouldn't have stretched as long as it did, with the three humans staring with rounded eyes and opened mouths at the body on the floor. It was the fresh corpse of a monster grotesque even in daylight, and it turned the stomach to look on it now; split wide open from the head to its naval. It's blood had spread out over the stones, looking as dark and cold as the room itself.****

"You did it! You did it Clare!" The Claymore had won. As the jubilant cheer was joined with blood-stained grins from Rabona's guardsman.****

"_Heh heh heh,_you got 'im," Sid croaked, lifting his head from the floor, "Good job."****

"You Claymores... are really something."****

Clare stood on rickety legs, her breath short puffs. She raised her hands and looked at her bloody palm, still clenching the claymore in one hand. _I've... lost too much blood..._Lightheaded, her thoughts swirled away from her and everything was replaced with flood of sensation. ****

Everyone saw Clare slump to her knees, hugging herself tightly, as if the feelings could be physically restrained. ****

Raki rushed to her. "Clare!" He watched her double-over. "Clare, are you okay? Are you hurt?"****

Galk momentarily forgot his own injuries and planted a knee under him, trying to stand, eyebrows slanting toward his mouth in concern. He didn't know anything about Claymore, but this didn't look good. "What... Is she alright?" Galk managed to approach, his steps laced with pain.****

"Clare! What's wrong?" Raki sat on the floor beside her, craning his neck, trying to see past her hair, which partitioned him from her lowered expression. Of course she was hurt, but was the pain too much? Was she feeling sick? If she couldn't tell Raki what was wrong, then how could he help her?****

This sensation... it was... pleasurable. How ironic, that something this good looked so ugly on the outside; the Claymore's body was contorting, her muscles bulging, her torso stretching, veins springing to the surface of the skin. ****

"C-Clare!" Raki fell back with heels of the floor in affright. He couldn't pull his gaze from Clare's golden, feral eyes.****

"Ugh...ugh..." Clare's groans bordered on the painful, the pleasurable. It was like the rough embrace of a lover, promising so much fulfillment, if only she would submit her body over to it. _Oh no, I shouldn't have used so much yoma power in my condition. Now I can't stop the flow. _Her yoki power throbbed under the skin, growing unabated, pounding in her gut. She clenched her jaw, but her heart continued to bash against her ribs. Clare watched her youthful fingers grow the knobby joints and claws of a true monster. _It's...no good... can't turn back... _****

"Clare." Regaining some of his composure, Raki reached out to offer her an assuring touch.****

"Stay back!" ****

The guttural quality of her voice caused Raki to yank his hand away as well as the sudden motion of her sword did. Clare shot to her feet and stood holding the sharp edge of her own sword against her throat. ****

"Wh... What do you think you're doing?!" Raki yelled.****

Impassive shadows masked the Claymore's somber face. "If we use too much yoma power when we're weak, it becomes unstoppable."****

Realization slowly dawned on Raki's face. Mount Shire. The executed Claymore. The things Clare had said to him at that time... No, it couldn't be...****

"So while I still have a human consciousness... I'm ending my life."****

"No!" Raki sucked in a breath, stepping toward her, "Clare, wait!"****

"I told you to stay back!" ****

"What do you mean?" That conversation on the mountainside. Something about a Black Card... No, Raki didn't want to face it. He denied it. "What are you saying... Clare?" But the truth reflected in his hazel eyes, like two lampwicks of gold, as Clare's eyes seemed mirrored in his own.****

Clare tried to smile. "This is goodbye, Raki."****

Her sword-arm shot into the air. But judging by the look of surprise on the Claymore's face, that arm wasn't under her control. "Wh-what?" Her yoki surged and the sensation was scintillating, pricking at her very fingertips. ****

A twitch, and the sword fell like an executioner's axe. Raki stood under the stroke like an uncomprehending lamb under its caretaker's knife. Between the space of that moment and the next - which would surely send the boy's head rolling - Clare fought to control her awakening arm. With all her pull, the tip of the sword wavered and slashed through the air in front of Raki's nose. The claymore dove into the floor and Clare collapsed to her knees, holding the hilt with both hands as if it were her only anchor.****

Her yoki surges were only becoming more rampant. She couldn't control her own body anymore. Her grip on humanity was slipping. Her instincts had already begun to betray her; she had tried to hurt Raki! "Ugh.."****

"C-Clare! What's-" ****

"-Don't come near me!" She gasped, her head bowed. "G-Galk... Help...me..."****

Between the two warriors, the entreaty could only mean one thing. All the furrows and sharp creases convoluting Galk's worried expression were swept away by this realization. Dutifully he stepped forward and raised his sword.****

"Galk!" Raki cried, "What are you doing?! Don't!"****

"Raki..." The fragility of his name on her quavering lips cut through his panic. "Sorry... I can't stop it. I'm turning into a yoma! As I said... the more we use our power, the closer we are to becoming yoma. It's not always slow. It can happen all at once. This time I used too much yoma power when I was physically and mentally exhausted." A small, self-deprecating smile at her recklessly briefly touched her lips. "Now the change has started and I can't control it." Blood was roaring in her ears, her heart was crashing against her throat. She fought to speak evenly, with calm, fighting to hang on to her humanity long enough to say goodbye, for the sword poised over her head to fall. "I asked Father Vincent to take care of you. Sorry, but our travels are over."****

Raki saw through Clare. Into the emptiness. He felt that emptiness creep inside him any time he tried imagining living without Clare.****

"I'm glad we spent some time together." Clare raised her golden eyes, besieged at their corners by clenched veins. "Goodbye."****

Raki threw himself upon her, his skinny arms encircling her waist and hugging her tight. It only took Clare a moment to overcome her surprise. "Stop it! Get away! I can't control my body for much longer! You'll be killed!" As if he monster half was being awoken by the presence of such tasty prey, her yoki intensified and the sensation eroded her will to stop it. The urge to awaken was blossoming in her core, promising glowing relief if she would abandon the fight. "G-Get away from me Raki. Hurry. Before I lose control. Go."****

"I... I'm so happy I got to travel with you, Clare." His arms remained a cradle around her tormented body, "My family got killed. The town shunned me. They even cast me out. Everything I loved, everything I knew, I lost it all at once," His cheek stayed pressed against her shoulder, "That's why I'm happy. I'm happy I could travel with you. To have someone to be with."****

Galk didn't move.****

"You always said you weren't kind. But you were kinder to me than anyone."****

Sid didn't move.****

"That's why I don't want anybody else. I just want to be with you." Tears gushed down the boy's face like a true confession, "That's why, if you die, I'm going to die with you."****

Something she couldn't name overpowered her. It crashed down with such force the ground beneath them shattered. Raki never let go.****

Galk gripped his sword hilt harder as chips of stone whizzed by his cheeks and glanced off his breastplate. Sid strained to lift his head, still prone on the ground from his injuries. Both of them watched the dust clear, fearing what sort of demon it would reveal the Claymore to be.****

What they saw was... Clare. Without claws, without fangs, without frightening eyes. Raki sat on his heels before her, looking as bewildered as Clare did.****

"The power..." She opened her palm and didn't see a single scratch left behind, not a trace of blood drying on her skin. She had the slender hands of a youthful woman once more. "...it stopped." She couldn't believe it yet. This was impossible. This night was full of impossible things happening. ****

The weight of Raki hanging from her neck, after he'd thrown his arms around it, tugged Clare back to the present moment. Astonished still, she sat there, feeling Raki's quaking held against hers and listened to his grateful sobs. ****

Galk unceremoniously collapsed onto the floor, slumping his shoulders and at last relinquishing his reserves of strength. "Enough," He looked at Clare, who looked at him too, her arms still awkwardly at her sides, "I'm tired of standing around with a sword while my body is full of holes." Although his brow was furrowed in pain, his face bruised and his eye swollen shut, Galk cracked a half-grin at her, "Don't give me that surprised look. You didn't turn into a yoma. That's all I'm saying. You were saved, in the end, by that boy."****

It was true. She was... _alive_. Slowly Clare folded her arms around Raki, who pressed his mouth against her shoulder and let her cloak soak in his tears. Clare touched his back and whispered soothingly into his ear.****

"Let's get back... to where we belong."****

A new dawn in Rabona. This one fought for harder than any other. A renewed sense of peace was ushered into the holy city. Soon the flow of the city would be stable again; the city gates were opened again to pilgrims and travelers alike. ****

Two such persons stood outside the great cathedral, unremarkable in their plain dark clothes. A young brown-haired boy carrying a bundle on his back, and a young pretty woman in a long cloak. Their words with the priest as they strolled away from the marvelous structure were private ones, save for the ears of the priest's personal guards who walked closely in their wake. ****

"So you're leaving us then? Have you recovered enough?" Father Vincent inquired. ****

"I'll be fine, I just need some rest. Thank you for all your help, Father."****

"Not at all!" He beamed, "You're the one who helped us. We owe you our thanks. The others aren't permitted to speak to you but in their hearts everyone is grateful."****

"We're grateful too," One of the guardsman broke in, "It pains me to escort you out of town without telling people how you saved us all. Please let me thank you on their behalf."****

"That's my job," Clare replied, having assumed her usual stoic demeanor, "I don't do it for praise or thanks."****

"I see," The guard's kind eyes said more. "Farewell."****

Just as it seemed the woman and boy would depart through the city gate, Father Vincent said, "Now, about that other matter. I spoke with the others. We would be glad to take care of Raki."****

Raki felt his heart plunged into his stomach. The whole world was going to come down around him next.****

But Clare said, "Are you coming with me... Raki?"****

Elation rescued his heart. "YES!"****

Father Vincent looked on with a soft, unassuming smile. "I see. Go safely."****

Just as the pair turned away to do just that, someone barked, "Hey! Girl!" And as Clare turned her head, Sid was there to plant a kiss on her mouth! "Heh heh," With his usual arrogance, the weasel smirked, "That's all the medicine I need." That crutch under his bandaged shoulder said something different! "It's against my principles to let a classy girl get away too easy."****

Clare blinked.****

"Come back again." Standing beside Sid, Galk smiled warmly. "Don't get yourself killed... Clare."****

And then, just as Clare might notice Raki had disappeared from her side, the boy announced his presence behind Sid by swiftly kicking the lecherous weasel between the legs!****

Every hair on Sid's body jumped to attention and his teeth creaked as he bit down. "GAHH!"****

"You can't talk to Clare like that, you lecher!"****

"You little...!" Sid's voice shook as badly as the rest of him! "Stay out of this, kid! This is between adults!"****

"There's nothing between you two!" Raki snarled, looking to stomp on Sid's boots.****

"Watch it! I'm an invalid!"****

"Come on, Raki," Clare interrupted their bout, sharing a smile between their new friends, "Let's go."****

Sid glowered and released Raki's hair. "Sure!" Raki let go of Sid's arm and freed his foot from the man's stomach.****

"Grow strong, boy." Sid said it as quietly as a secret. "You'll need to be strong," He smiled over at the Claymore, "To help Clare." ****

Raki got to his feet. That was a promise he already had in his heart. The boy smiled to himself. "You can count on me!" He raced to catch up with Clare.****

THE OVERWHELMING ABSOLUTE DARKNESS

scene V, part VII

_end_****


	12. Teresa of the Faint Smile I

******TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

scene XII, part I

When a monster wonders, ___what are you_, then you're finally starting to understand. I'm not human. Yet everyone manages to get it wrong, about just ___what _I am. My kind has no vainglorious name. We're warriors. Some which happen to be stronger than others. Strong enough to dispatch a single yoma without breaking a sweat.

One move - and the arm comes off. Why not give the villagers a show? They came out of their homes and into the streets to watch me. Their faces are transfixed, horrified. No one looks away.

The monster grunts against the force of its arm tearing free, its golden eyes wild. "**No! It can't be! How...? What **_****__is_ **she?!**" Oh, that old line again?

The faintest smile touches my lips. One step and I seem gone, but my cloak ruffles behind me as I land on the other side of the yoma, who is sliced through the chest. It falls on its face, kissing the dirty street. As it growls in disbelief, "**What-**" I plant my foot on its head to silence it. The tip of the claymore slides easily through the skull and slips out the other side, between the eyes. There's no regenerating from ___that_. But, with a wider smile, I twist the blade around to seem extra diligent. The town center is so choked with craven silence that everyone hears the sound of crunching bone.

Unfortunately, humans can never keep from wagging their tongues for long.

"Oh... Oh my..."

"She crushed the yoma!"

Whispers ripple through the crowd. Disgusted, impressed, terrified. I ignore them and give the long slender hilt of the sword a tug with one hand to free it.

"Ah..." A man approaches from behind; he moves with forced, reluctant steps. "Hey..."

With a sharp flick of the wrist the dark blood defiling my blade is cast off. Apparently the spray hits the villagers that still stand around to gawk. They screech. Oops.

"What are you doing?" A man shouts, flecks of blood around his mouth.

"Hey! Easy!" Someone barks at him.

I glance their way and they both shut up. Beads of sweat spring instantly up from their skin, just from the scrutiny of my gaze. The claymore is slid into place in its holster between pauldrons with a familiar ___klack__ of metal_. Time to move on.

"Uh... Hey..." It's that timid man again, holding a large rucksack. "Thank you for helping us. This is your payment."

"Don't need it," I dismiss the proffered bag.

"Huh?" Plenty of the other villagers hear this and adopt the man's blank look.

"A strange-looking man dressed in black will come for it later," I explain without turning away from the bloody corpse at my feet. "Give it to him then."

"Eh? But... If that's all we know, what if we make a mistake and give it to the wrong man?"

My voice cools. "I don't care. In that case, it will be the same as if this village never paid. Next time, no matter how many yoma appear in your town, we won't come to help."

The words don't sink in deep enough. The man stutters.

I lift my chin and show him the cold silver of a warrior's eye. "So be careful. When a village doesn't pay, yoma will show up a few days later and wipe it out." My gaze lingers. "Or so I've heard."

"We... We'll pay!" He assures, raising his voice instead of taking one more step in my direction, as I don't dally another minute in the dismal place. "We'll pay without fail!"

"Glad to hear it," I smile to myself, "That's the wise choice."

It is arid, the breezes few and feeble. The road taken from the town is a wide berth of dirt, many small stones regularly swept to the side. The ranges that saw up from the ground are unimpressive these days, crumbling like stale bread. The sky looks torn at the edges where it comes into junction with the earth.

It is not a long travel through the broken countryside before a black shape looms up from the end of the road. The languid rolling of the figure's long concealing cloak flows with the waves of heat rippling off the ground. I pay the man no heed and he passes like a stranger, the top of that hood marking him no taller than my chest.

"You scared another village, didn't you... Teresa?"

I stop at the sound of my name and peer down at the man in black. "I told the truth, Orsay." The Watcher has no sense of humor. "We never lend a hand to a village that doesn't pay. No matter what happens afterward."

"That's true." He concedes, keeping the shadows bent over his face, "But the way you say it, you make it sound like we send the yoma after them ourselves."

Mischief tugs at the corner of my mouth. "Oh?" I tease, "You mean we don't?"

A thread of sunlight delineates Orsay from his brow to his chin as he casts an upward glance. That was enough for me to distinguish his pockmarked scarring concealed from the darkness inside his hood. It ravaged him from the scalp to his neck, completely covering his right eye. A face only a mother could love, I assume. Though it doesn't seem possible a Watcher could come out of any willing woman.

"Careful what you say," Orsay mutters, "Our job is to slaughter yoma. We would never do such a thing."

Typical response from the Organization. Perhaps if they say it a few more times even they will start to believe it. I don't offer a lick of contrition and merely await orders. Orsay, as expected, operates purely on business. "Now, about your next job. A two-day walk west of here is Teo village."

"Any other details?" My gaze remains on him, but the man has lowered his head.

"You need more?" Such passive-aggressiveness!

"Huh? Uh, not really." Drawing out his time here, for someone as impatient as Orsay, was just a little fun. Not that he ever appreciated it.

"The number of yoma, what they're like... it's all the same. Find them and kill them. That's all." See? Annoyed already.

With a small, complacent smile I salute him, "Aye, aye, boss." And then I am on my way west.

...

_Teresa... a half-breed created by the Organization. A seventy-seventh generation Claymore... warrior 182. No matter what yoma she faces, she slays them without exhausting her yoma power. For that reason, her face never grows ugly or contorted, and when she slays the creatures, she seems to have the faintest of smiles._

_So she's known as Teresa of the Faint Smile... The strongest woman among those called Claymores._

With all this in mind, Orsay watches the Claymore's tall, slender white figure dip along the bobs in the road. The sunlight seems to ignite the edges of her pale blond hair, and it is that halo which shines brightest and is the last vestige seen before she disappears from the Watcher's sight.

"Heh, maybe not the strongest woman... rather, the strongest monster."

Perhaps there is a streak of humor in him after all.

...

The sanguine glow of the setting sun mingles at the edges of Teo's cold, stony shadows. The market yet bustles, the sturdy wooden stalls still boastful of vegetables and grains. The gentle ___shusssssh _of the wheat fields usher me to the city's narrow gate, the subtle scent of the coming harvest on the breeze.

A merchant supervising his stall looks my way and a sound escapes from beneath his peppered mustache. I am the unexpected guest that could never go amiss. Well, perhaps ___guest_ is too strong a word...

"It's a... Claymore..."

Vanishing to the naked eye, I appear in the next moment beyond the gawking merchant in perfect nonchalance. The chasm I have opened in his body, splitting him from the shoulder to the ribs, erupts in a wash of blood. His last gasp is colored red.

"Wha-?!"

The screaming begins.

I look over my shoulder at the body falling to the ground. It caught the corner of a table and took a crate of apples down with it. The bruised fruit roll in every direction. "That's one," I say.

Panic engulfs the market. Someone's shout rises above the din, "What was that?!"

"What do you think you're doing?! You -" The peasant doesn't get to finish. I thrust my arm. The puncture of flesh and bone is so fluid, the transition through the back of the man's skull so quick, that an entire moment flashes across his eyes - realizing that he is already dead.

"That's two." The smirk curls. My sword leaps for the sky, outracing the torrent of blood erupting from the peasant's split head. More screams, but I do not allow them to distract me. Hearing, seeing, smelling, tasting - none of these things hold a candle to the ability to feel yoki.

"Murderer!"

Even stampeding feet, as the rabble scramble to distance themselves from me and the dripping claymore in my hand, hit my ears as no more than a dull patter.

"It's killing people!"

I can never lose my mark. "That's three," I say, a mere blur in the corner of my prey's eye. Without a misstep, the man's head is shaved away from his lower jaw. The head hits the ground and spins away.

"She's, she's gone mad!" Another villager stands there, frozen with wide eyes, as his neighbors abandon him with all the speed they can muster.

He doesn't see me appear behind him. The sword moves just as fast, so he doesn't feel the killing blow, either. "That's four," He can still hear; but the moment he turns his head to see the back of my flowing hair is when he splits in twain and those pieces fall to the ground.

The human screams change, shrilly splitting the air. I know what is taking place without laying eyes on the remaining auras. The yoma are shucking their human bodies. The flicker of their yoki intensifies as the change becomes complete; their skin toughens like leather and stretches taught over immense muscle, their lips thin as their mouths widen and fill with jagged teeth and their eyes become feral and gold.

"What kept you?" The bare shift of my head, a tendril of blond hair pulling back from a silver eye, is enough of a taunt. "You should've summoned your power the moment you saw me... don't you think?" But sometimes it is worth reminding pests like this how cowardly they are.

Then they might just put a little ___effort_into things.

One of the two yoma charges, enthusiastically leaping with it's arms stretching for me, eager to draw blood. It makes a graceless landing, what with the hips removed from the body from my midair counter. The torso lands first, then the legs in a mortal spray of dark blood. Oh well, one couldn't have expected more in a fight with unremarkable opponents. Yoma have no imagination.

I land standing on two feet, my sword sticking through the neck of the remaining monster. Its severed vocal cords permit a strangled sound of bewilderment.

"Whatever you do, it's useless." I wrench free my sword, incidentally removing the monster's head. Its body joins its kin on the dirty city street.

"Eeeeek!"

"The bodies... they're...!"

"They're all... yoma!"

Humans, how sad it is to rely on such primitive senses. Only now, when the false villagers I've killed have been exposed by their deaths as monsters, do they understand how misplaced their trust was. And yet... never do they falter in their distrust. Humans are unfortunate creatures indeed. The villagers emerge from hiding, hovering beyond the gore of the dead yoma still dressed like men, likely puzzling over how this could have happened. Of course they are especially shocked due the circumstances.

"You're one lucky village. Seems that seven yoma were living here. The request for the yoma hunt came from another town. The creatures did all their feeding in neighboring towns and lived quietly here."

By the looks on their faces, it could take time for that to sink in. Doubtful the humans would learn from this. Of course if they could, there would be such a need for warriors like myself.

"Now," The gloved fingers around the claymore hilt adjust, the five-foot-blade remaining aloft, "I felt the aura of seven yoma from outside the village. But how many did I kill?" I look down at the body laying near the toes of my sabatons, the steel speckled in blood.

"One. Two. Three. Four. Five." I calmly point to each corpse. "Six." The villagers are not so calm. Some even have droplets of sweat clinging to their cheeks. No one has to say it: there is one more monster standing in the crowd. Perhaps I will mistake any one of them for my next target.

"Hmm." I thoughtfully touch my temple. "I wonder..." I glance at a cluster of peasants. They cringe. "Where..." I sweep my gaze to the other side of the market, and feet nervously shuffle, stares go astray. "Hmm." I tap my chin, fretting. "Well, well. What if I don't find it?"

The fear is swelling, rippling through the murmurs and terrorized faces. My silver eyes pierce through the bodies, following the invisible threads of yoki. "What, indeed." Another man, this one standing behind a small girl. How amusing.

"Did you think you could use the child as a shield?" The man slowly realizes I am now standing behind him. "___Fool_."

The body renders itself into two even halves, taking for granted that I had moved my sword at all. The corpse lands on each side of the child in a rain of blood. The girl, who stood as thin and still as a reed, turns her blood-soaked face and looks up at me with eyes as earthy green as mine are cold and hollow. They share a simple understanding. It is over.

******TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

scene XII, part I

___end_


	13. Teresa of the Faint Smile II

**TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

scene XIII, part II

I always thought my best feature was my long black hair.****

But the people I trusted sold me to the Organization and on that day I lost everything. ****

To die as a beggar or become a tool of the Organization... I didn't have much choice. It wasn't just me, either. It was like that for everyone who joined. No one ever comes willingly knocking on the Organization's door. ****

My body was cut open, too. I ceased to be human and became something else. In that moment, my cherished black hair, my black eyes - all of the color drained from my body, leaving only these shining silver eyes.****

It is twilight in Teo village while I stir beneath a silk coverlet, legs hitched and arms awkwardly folded. I have been awarded the best room at the inn on behalf of the village for slaying six yoma that evening. The accommodations are lavish, from the niches artfully carved in the wooden headboard above the sprawling bed, to the dressed table and chair, to the brass chandelier with frosted lamps gleaming in the dreary moonlight. Everything is stylish and designed to be comfortable.****

Groaning softly, I open my eyes. "Damn. This feels awful." For another time I roll onto my other side, but grab a fistful of the sheet and cast it off from me. I swing my legs to the floor and reach for the uniform on the wooden floorboards, discarded like a snakes' skin and looking just as pale and used. I yank the garments on.****

With a dull _thock_of wood the end of my sword is stuck into the floor. It remains erect when I lean my weight against it, folding my legs and crossing my arms. I exhale an unamused _hmph_at the room. "I can't seem to relax any other way." I mutter, "I've got no use for fancy food or a soft bed." Could I even remember what it felt like, back then, when snuggling under a blanket brought me a sublime joy?****

A light rapping of knuckles coming through the door disrupts the very notion.****

Subsequently, a tremulous voice barely carries through the wood, "Uh, Miss Teresa? Your dinner is ready, so..."****

Two feet of slicing through the door teaches him what it feels like to be disturbed. Kicking out the door from where it split is just a little bonus. The gaping steward looks like his heart has jumped out of his mouth. I stand in the broken doorway, holding the slender hilt of the claymore.****

"Sorry, but I'm off. I won't be needing room or board."****

"O...okay..."****

Although it is late, my presence has stirred up the locals. There are plenty of people in the street when I emerge.****

"Looks like the Silver-Eyed Witch is leaving..."****

"That was quick. I thought she'd at least stay the night..."****

I wish to be on my way and not be mired in humanity. But a village elder steps into the wide berth shuffling feet created in the town square and approaches. The thin grey hairs on his chin wag as he speaks.****

"Miss... Teresa... This is the money we collected to pay you for killing the yoma." He has in his folded arms a cloth sunken from the weight of the wealth, a small pile of gold ingots. "It's all we have." ****

"I don't need it. Not that pitiful sum." The rebuke catches everyone listening by surprise.****

"Eh?"****

"The request for a Claymore came from another village, not yours. If you had made a proper request, it would have cost ten times that. And since there were seven yoma, the cost would have been seven times more."****

"Eh? Eh?" The suggestive sum boggles him. How silly and naive could humans get?****

The hint of my amusement vanishes from the subtle curve of my mouth as I notice a tugging at the corner of my cape. More people have noticed me by now, but their eyes are glued to the little girl hanging on to the edge of my cape with one hand.****

"Hey... That girl..."****

I recognize the same long straight ginger hair as the onlookers do. Grabbing the slack in my cape, I yank hard and relinquish it of the child's grip. Her meager weight is pulled from the ground by the force and she lands on her face.****

Gasps match several surprised faces, perhaps as shocked at the girl's foolishness as they are by the callousness of a Slayer's manners.****

"Who's this?" I demand an answer from the crowd, "Isn't that the daughter of the last yoma I killed? Is she looking to avenge her father?" It wouldn't be the first time such misplaced vengeance was attempted.****

"N-No... She isn't from here," The elder doesn't stop staring at the girl resting her face in the dirt. "And we don't think she is related to that yoma."****

The statement takes my curiosity up a notch. "What do you mean?"****

"The child can't speak, so we don't know for sure. But it seems she knew he was a yoma. He forced her to follow him, and they just happened to come here." Speculation, but it sounded about right.****

"How do you know that she can't speak?" I narrow my eye at the man.****

He doesn't notice my stare. He is watching the girl shakily push her hands against the ground and sit up. "Well, you see, her body is covered in scars from being beaten many times."****

I look myself. What I see and hear clicks. I understand. "I see. So she was just the creature's toy. So she thinks of me as her savior, does she?" I raise my voice, so everyone can learn from this: "Sorry, girl, but I didn't come here to save you. Killing yoma is just my job. Don't misunderstand." ****

I turn to leave, but for the second time I am stalled. The girl has got up and is hugging my leg. She seems oblivious to the five-foot claymore hanging bare from its holster at my back; a graze could split open flesh. Her arm is dangerously close to it where she has grabbed my thigh. ****

Hushed voices pervade through the crowd. No one steps forward to intercede on the twit's behalf. "What are you doing?" My voice is deepened, matured with a warning she doesn't heed. Through the contact of her spindly arms, the deep-rooted tremors in her body are conducted into mine.****

Acrimoniously she is tossed away by a single kick on my part. I am not made remorseful by the distressed purling of the crowd. Not one of them steps in. It is left to me. And actions are much more effective than words. "I told you, go away. I'm not your savior." I could feel my irritation break across my brow in furrowing lines as I watch the girl from the corner of my eye; she picks herself up from the ground and stands on swooning feet****

Her green eyes look dazed but without a glimmer of tears in them, even though the skin on her forehead has split from the hard landing. A smear of blood tapers down her temple. I can hear the catch in her breathing as she gasps for air.****

"What's with her?" I snap at the elder, who hasn't yet retreated with the pittance held in his arms. "Is she touched in the head?"****

"Eh?" The man glances nervously, "No, but she was kicked around by the yoma for so long that she's closed herself off, verbally and emotionally. She won't respond to anyone. Or so we thought." ****

I suppose the human's insight is correct. After a warrior completes their mission they move on to the next, so how human victims deal with the aftermath of yoma attacks... that isn't a concern to a warrior.****

"Hey." I don't turn to look, but I sense the girl has taken a step toward me. "Take one more step and I'll kick you for real this time." Any human, big or small, I can't tolerate being meddled with. Still, she has no idea just how easy I was being on her. "I know you're not deaf." I remain still, as she does. I am not bluffing and she must know it.****

"The girl's gonna get killed."****

"Somebody help her." ****

"Don't be stupid, it's not worth getting involved."****

"Besides," The villagers murmur to each other, "there's no one here to take care of her. The yoma was the one who brought her here. If the Claymore wants to kick the girl to death, no one is going to stop her."****

I listen to the chatter, my expression a cool, neutral mask. ****

The girl takes that forbidden step forward.****

My foot catches her under the jaw, snapping her head back. The girl's arms and legs stiffly float along her body as she crashes down upon the street. A woman's scream tears at the stillness that pounces upon the child's body, after she has skid to a finish along the cobbled stone. The brutality of the kick assures that I will not be troubled again.****

"Hmph," A disdainful sneer mars the words, "You're wasting my time." I look away from the shape on the stones, brushing aside the effrontery that had raised my hackles. "I don't think the last yoma was part of the request," I address the village, "but I won't charge anything since I did as I pleased."****

They are bewildered by the shift of my manner. I only smile. "Happy? You're one lucky village."

…

****The grassy knolls of a comely countryside burn emerald beneath an unbridled sun and cool to a hard emerald green as night creeps down the mountains. A deciduous forest of peeling aspen and birch swollen with burls offers a secure place to camp. The ground is strewn with leaves and twigs which break with a crisp snap beneath a careless step.****

The bedraggled girl staggering through the soulless dark pauses to catch her breath. The beckoning shadows of a campfire sweeps her weariness away as her eyes focus on the picture of a woman sitting with back propped against the flat of an enormous claymore, with arms crossed and head bent as though sleeping. ****

Once there, until she blinked, and then gone. The sword too, the girl realizes, when she sees the long, wide blade appear over her shoulder. One twitch of the wrist from that proximity and a head could be removed. That should be enough to scare the wits out of any meddling human. Her mouth silently opens - I see the minute gesture on the polished face of the sword - but she can't comprehend even a squeak.****

**"**I should praise you for having the strength to follow me this far," I remark coldly, "but I don't like people tagging along after me."****

The girl doesn't move. Not a hair.****

**"**Like I told you before, killing yoma is my job. I didn't kill him for your sake. And I don't need a pet." I sense my words are having an effect; I narrow my eyes and make a chilling offer. "Would you prefer... I end it all here?"****

Distracted, I don't hear the rustle of the leaves above us. But I lunge forward as I sense something drop from the branch hanging high over my head, scooping the mute girl off her feet. Certainly, she is a thorn in my side but I would not have her die. Even if she's inviting it by traversing the wilderness without any survival skill, wearing nothing but a thin tunic and being too stupid or stubborn to heed warnings. I can't decide which better describes her.****

I land in a defensive crouch with the girl at my back. "A yoma?" My thoughts race, "It can't be! I didn't feel -" Then I do feel something. Another being, behind me! I swing my sword with a growl of aggravation. This was too many disturbances for one night. "Grr, you-"****

My blade stops inches from the startled but angry expression of a grizzled-looking man. He is dressed in plain clothes and choice pieces of used armor. A mercenary. _Is he... human?!_****

At my back, a sharp gasp scrapes the small girl's throat as she is roughly grabbed by her shoulder. Instinct dictates I remove the offending appendage; I spin sharply and detach the hand at the wrist. _Argh, this is bad. _Too late I realize what I have done. The mutilated bandit wails and falls to the ground holding the dripping stump on his arm. His pitiful grunts of pain are drowned by the approach of several more humans as they tromp into the sanguine glow of the firelight.****

Somehow, an entire band of cutthroats and criminals have surrounded the Organization's number one. I am easily identified by the warrior's uniform I wear, much less my pale hair and silver eyes.****

**"**It's a Claymore."****

**"**A Silver-Eyed Witch."****

The mood becomes uneasy. I let them see that I am unconcerned with them and the swords they carry in their hands. "Bandits , eh?" I scan my surroundings. "Too bad we've got nothing worth stealing. You'd better see to your friend here. He's losing a lot of blood." The end of my sword comes to rest in the ground. I take my hand from the hilt and stand with my fists at my sides. Let them understand just how much of a threat they present to what they call a Claymore.****

**"**So what if he dies?"****

I and the men look in the direction of this retort, spoken with such bluster that his role as leader of the pack seems assured.****

**"**Never thought I'd meet a Silver-Eyed Witch in a place like this," The talking man, still in possession of his youth with raven hair, which parted strictly down the center and tied at the back, but for the curtains which hung alongside narrow cheeks. He smirks at me with churlish gall. "And a mighty fine woman at that." His lips spread wider and the devilish arches of his brows rose, the twin studs pierced over his eye catching the light. I notice the armor he wears is etched with scars and that his sword has remained in its sheath on his back, the pommel raised high over his shoulder.****

I stare without reply.****

**"**Careful, boss," A man in a headwrap, with dark eyes peeking through, warns, "they're also known as Silver-Eyed Slayers. She's too dangerous-" Certainly this is where rumor and hearsay are most convenient.****

**"**I don't care." This man's attitude portends malice. "I've heard that her kind has a law against killing people." Boss's revelation surprises his men. "It's an ironclad rule. They can't kill people, whatever the reason - even if it's an accident. If one of them breaks the rule, the other Claymore join in to take her head. Everyone's afraid of those half-breeds," His smirk curdles into a sneer, "a rule like that is the only way to get people to trust them."****

I suppose my silence is taken for an act of admission. Confidence solidifies many crooked grins and lends credence to the lascivious idea of my helplessness against any advances on their part - violent or lustful.****

**"**You don't say," One bandit says to another, sharing meaningful wags of their ego, "Then there's nothing to fear. Even Claymores are afraid of being targeted."****

**"**That's one mighty fine women," They leer in agreement. "A real jewel."****

**"**What a body. It's too much. Hee hee." They creep closer, practically salivating like the dogs they are. ****

I can sense the child hiding behind me stiffen, understanding what these men are planning to do with me. But I am not the least bit worried. In fact, I must laugh. "Is that what you had in mind?" I chuckle darkly, "If you'd said so from the start I wouldn't have resisted."****

I surprise them by untucking the dickie at my neck. If these fools could understand the symbol emblazoned on the fabric they would not be having such fantasies for such a monster. My gloved fingers curl in at the exposed collar of the brigandine and rather dramatically rip the whole front open, so all could see this _jewel_of body. And I do so with the faintest of smiles.****

**"**If you don't mind a body like this, then you can do as you please."****

It's nice to see Boss's smirk rattle loose from his face. "What the hell... is that?"****

These men, who plunder and murder, who think nothing of the profane crimes they commit, cannot look on me for long. Their expressions sickens and the fantasies which have raced from one head to the other curdle in their blood.****

**"**Ugh... is that _real_?"****

**"**That's..."****

**"**Ugh..."****

**"**Behold the body of what your kind calls Claymore. If this is what you want, help yourself!"****

Not one of them holds their gaze. They seem to have changed their minds. The fools; if they like their Claymore stories, perhaps they should bother to learn more than what's convenient.****

**"**No thanks," They mutter, turning their backs as they lose interest in me. "Not me. Yuck..."****

The Boss's pride has been stripped from him and he doesn't look happy. With a scowl even he departs. "Let's go. Somebody help out Rig."****

Rig, the unfortunate man who lost his hand is helped to his feet. His glare is bright and fevered with contempt and he narrows those eyes at me. "Hey!" He snarls, "I won't forget this, Witch!" Then, grunting, even he hobbles away. I watch until the last one is swallowed up by the forest, never standing out of reach of the claymore hilt. The only evidence of an altercation with the humans is a trail of blood an unclaimed hand laying in the dirt.****

**"**You better go too," I instruct the girl, pulling my sword out from the ground and sliding it into the sheath between my shoulders. "You're not wanted," I remind her, adding with irrefutable truth: "I'm a monster. I can't be your babysitter."****

The girl raises her large green eyes and looks me in the eyes, cracked lips parted as though she would argue.****

**"**Go. Get lost."****

Her life has nothing to do with me.

**TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

scene XIII, part II

_end_


	14. Teresa of the Faint Smile III

**TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

scene XIV, part III

The weight of each footstep, clad in the layered steel of sabatons, snap apart the dead foliage strewn across the forest path. The small footsteps trailing these are so much lighter that the twigs only creaked in protest as they are trodden. And so its been like this for quite a while. I ignore her but she keeps following me, that red-haired girl I liberated from yoma...****

She is smart enough to stay far behind, but she never lets me out of her sight. I still don't understand it. I am a monster, what her kind calls a Claymore. I kill yoma and that's it. Sometimes they get it into their fool head that I am some savior, but they are only mistaken. These silver eyes are cold and have no feeling. These are soulless eyes. One look is usually all it takes to banish any idea that I am anything human. Perhaps warriors do not even possess a soul after taking yoma flesh into their bodies. _Something_has to make room, perhaps.****

Although the girl is a nuisance, she is also my responsibility and I cannot outright shut her out. I can hear the pebbles slip beneath her shoe as she walks the same ridge as I, and the sharp gasp as she pulls back from the edge of the cliff. There is no hesitation to trip my gait and I walk on.****

Yet I do get a furtive look at her as I glance back. _She just won't give up. No food, no water, yet she still keeps coming_. A thin hand props the child against a tree as she catches her breath. _This isn't so much endurance as it is sheer willpower._****

_Still..._I pause, my feet pointed at the valley chasm. _She must be reaching her limit_.****

The girl's eyes widen as she sees me step off the precipice. I plummet and the rush flings my long hair back and makes my cape snap fiercely. I land upright and standing, the shock absorbed by my body through my widely-spaced feet. A feat that would splinter the bones of a strong man.****

I look up the sheer rock wall, veined with the dead roots of trees that couldn't survive. The girl I am leaving behind stands at the edge where rock and sky meet. I see her long hair being manipulated by the cold breezes as well as the shock etched onto her face.****

"Sorry," I say without real apology, "but I can't stay with you forever. This is goodbye."****

The child steps off the cliff and I feel the scrape of teeth as my jaw clenches. For a moment she is suspended, borne of the air. But sure enough, even her meager body falls like a sack of bricks. Panic grips me. "Wha-?!"****

The look on her face is... determined. I watch her skinny arms reach out for a tree limb, gracelessly landing on it but holding tight. The tree is brittle and her hard landing tears at the roots and cracks apart the trunk. Had that been her plan? With no contingency made for failure, she resumes the fall. With the limb still in her arms she tumbles in the air. A protruding rock catches her in the back and tosses her to another rock. Seeing this, I am afraid she has killed herself. When the girl finally hits the ground, landing on her face, she looks as lifeless as the broken tree limb lying nearby. But I sense her shallow breathing. I am stunned by her actions.****

"What is going on?" I question the valley, "Why would she be doing all this to follow me?" I turn away from the little girl lump. "Oh well. She can't follow me if she's unconscious. This is the end of the line, no matter what."****

Indeed as I walk away from the impertinent thing, she strains to raise her trembling head. But her eyes follow me not for long, as gravity gives an irresistible pull and she slips unconscious with a soft sound of grass cushioning her face.****

The sun ticks higher in the sky and I have made no progress. I stand above the girl, seeing a thorn in my side instead, through narrowed eyes. "Damn you," The curse irritably slips off my tongue. "Will it be my fault if I leave you here to die?" I muse aloud, considering what verdict the Organization might render in the matter. "Those bandits back there saw you with me." Surely if they came across her in these woods again, she would be made to pay for their spoiled fun.****

"Hmph. You're really becoming a pain."

…

****The icy chill of the river whips her creamy skin like barbs as her body breaks through its sparkling surface. The water churns around the girl as she comes bobbing like a cork, face still submerged, arms and legs dangling in the deep. Her hair, dark as cinnamon when wet, snakes over the roiling waves until she violently yanks her head up with a garbled gasping.****

"You awake now kid?" I rest an arm over a raised knee. My bare feet enjoy the brush of the air on the soles. I sit by the waterline, some fifteen feet from where I tossed the kid in. ****

My voice startles her. What, did she think she dropped in from the sky?****

"The water's drinkable." I instruct her. "You didn't just pass out from the fall. You're dehydrated."****

She looked down at the water rocking around her hips, spreading her fingers among the frollicking scraps of sunlight, slowly understanding what I'd said. Her face dives back into the river. I can hear the sound of her chugging from here! Just when was the last time she had a cup of clean water?****

"And you stink, too." I declared over the sound of her slurping. "Didn't anyone in town help you clean up? You reek of yoma blood. Better wash yourself and your clothes thoroughly." The insult didn't have much bite, but it was a matter of recourse that if I were to be saddled with a human then it wasn't going to be a dirty, smelly one.****

Peeling the sleeveless tunic off of her body, the wet fabric is plopped into the river and scrubbed together with two small hands. I notice the decimation from her captivity among the yoma played out across her narrow backside. The extent of it lures my gaze from scar to scar; they are constellations mapped by sadists. _Of course. The villagers were probably too afraid to clean her because of the yoma. And those bruises must have scared them even more._****

Watching the girl dutifully wring out the tunic, flapping the garment with outstretched arms, I have a clear view of the colorful blotching reaching over her ribs. Green, yellow, purple, like layers of paint, each coat of pain only veiling the old. ****

As a warrior, I also know what it is like to own a body that repulses others. Still yet, those scars she wears on the outside... could be found within too.****

"You'd better eat something." I decide she is clean enough to join me. "Your stomach must be empty." I roll a heavy fruit in my hand, setting it upright. I had not eaten one myself for so long, I've forgotten its name.****

The girl enthusiastically slogs through the lake shoal, the water bursting in front of her knees. I think _empty_may have been an understatement. She boldly takes the fruit from my hand and sits back on her heels so that she can eat with her tunic laid over her lap to dry. The sound of her chomping probably scares the birds away.****

What manners. There is much she should be taught. _Hmph. It's like having a new pet_. Yet, not long have I formed the opinion she suddenly stops eating. I can see her teeth poised over the pale yellow flesh of the sweet fruit.****

"Hmm? What is it?" ****

To my surprise she holds out her hands, offering the fruit to me. I only blink, but her mouth slips closed and firms resolutely. Although her arms twitch with shivers, she doesn't accept my own blank stare.****

"Heh heh heh," I chuckle softly as I come to understand it. "Don't worry about me, I'm fine." ****

The kid is obviously uncertain. She has seen me walk all day without rest, neither stopping to drink or pick a berry. She is famished and does not know how I could not be. "It's for you." I soften my tone, "Go on, eat." There is a glob of juicy pulp clinging to her lower lip but she does not notice it. Such a silly, stubborn child, showing such concern for the well-being of a half-monster.****

"Really... do you think I'm just being nice?" By now, she must know that I do ingratiate myself toward others. As a warrior who humans must depend on, our health and fitness is paramount to that of everyone else.****

Convinced, she is delighted to gorge herself. Her zeal for eating is something new to watch. _Hm, maybe better than a pet_. I lace my fingers and use them to cradle the back of my head, laying down on the ground. The earth has soaked up the sun and its warmth radiates through my clothing. Closing my eyes, I relax with one leg hooked over the other knee, foot dangling in the air.****

"I'll take you to the next village," I am in a good mood, so the announcement is a relief; if I must keep her around, then deciding what to do with her would put an end to my anxiety. "If I left you here to starve, they'll say it was my fault." I must keep reminding the girl that this traveling arrangement is being done reluctantly. If she really gets it into her delusional head that I'm her shining prince, she might follow me for the rest of her life.****

The look on her face makes me believe it. I don't flinch against the sunlight as I peer over at her. She doesn't seem to be digesting my words as fast as that fruit. "For now, get some sleep," I suggest, a shadow of amusement falling across the words, "You probably haven't slept much lately. Don't worry, I won't run off while you're sleeping."

…

****Morning shirks away from the sun as it climbs out of the trees, stretching rosy fingers to sweep back the dusty blue that had settled over the valley during the night. ****

The girl stands in a lattice of shade and light, looking down at a heap of leaves that had served for her bed. She is alone. Or thought so, until the crackle of brush spun her around as I stepped through the trees that encircles our camp. I moved us just within the fringe of the forest so that the cold winds blowing off the water would not sicken the girl during the night. ****

"I brought you some breakfast," I say, evidenced by the long-eared hare I held up in my hand, my claymore held in the other. "Still hungry?" I look at the dead animal; seeing fur to be skinned, bones to be picked, meat to be cooked. What a pain. "You humans are a pain." I grumble. "You have to eat twice, even three times a day."****

Without any warning I have a small face buried against my stomach and little fingers digging into my brigandine. "H-Hey..." I fumble the words, "What is it...?" Her grip on me strengthens. I look down and see only the crown of her hair, glowing strawberry-blond where flecks of sunlight have landed.****

"_Hmph_. You fool, I told you I wouldn't run off." I offer no kinder condolences for her worry. With my hands occupied, I only stand there and firmly say with only mild annoyance; "I don't lie. I don't have to. So believe what I tell you." Only when you feel you have something to lose does betraying your honor hold any appeal. ****

The girl accepts this by nodding but cries anyway. Her sniffles cannot be blotted out by my body, which she snugly tucks her face against. Was she that worried I had left? This relieved that I am here now?****

I hum a gentle laugh with a smile. But then I realize what I am doing! _What am I smiling about?_****

Hours of quiet walking eventually take us alongside a deep ravine. There are tricky roots to navigate and crumbling spaces of loose rock. I don't slow or miss a step. But behind me, the panting girl loses her balance when the earth caves under the worn sole of her shoe. ****

Of course I do not let her fall. I am there to catch her by the wrist before the impetuous flood of vertigo finishes sweeping through her. The girl's mouth is opened in a silent cry, perhaps thinking it were possible I might lose my grip. Nonsense. I haul her up with one pull and let her flop. I rise and turn away, thinking nothing of the flabbergasted look on her face.****

"Watch your step. The rocks are loose." I step over a root and resume the same pace. The kid is quick to pop to her feet and stay on my trail.****

That night I watch her sleep through the licks of flame sprouting free of the campfire. With my legs cross, I rest against the flat of my sword as I had done in the inn at Telo, and countless times before.****

_She eats her food and then sleeps like a log_, I marvel. _No wonder. I may have slowed down for her but she's only a child. Still, she kept up_. I drift my gaze to the embers at the heart of the fire. _She's strange. Why does she try so hard to follow me?_****

Looking at her sleeping face again, the steady rise and fall of her shoulder, the hands languidly curled among the dirt and leaves as comfortably as if she were in a bed instead of the hard ground, I have to smile. _You must have latched on to me because you have no one else_.****

_But if you have no one but me, then you're truly unfortunate._I allow my gaze to drift to the ashing embers at the heart of the fire, though never letting slip my private smile. _You picked the wrong person. At least with a regular human you'd have found a better place to sleep._****

_In the long run... I can't do anything for you_.****

"Hey, are you ready?" In the morning, I watch her spread dirt over the burnt sticks until the faint grey wisps of smoke are extinguished. "Let's go." I say a little louder. She hears and comes with a bounce in her step. Yes, just like an energetic pet, maybe a pup?****

"I still don't know your name. I can't keep calling you 'Hey'."****

Pointing this out made her realize it, too. She waves her hands and forces strained noises from her throat. "Huh?" Oh, she's trying to tell me. "Ah. It's okay. Relax." Knowing she can't speak, letting her force herself that way might only hurt her. "You don't look like you can write." I muse, considering her tour with the yoma, who would not have allowed her to do anything but slave-work. And many villages were too consumed with surviving to trouble with writing or even reading; you were born, learned the trade of your parents, and that was it. If you were born into a community of miners, you often died a miner in that same town. ****

"I'll just pick something for now." I doesn't take me long to choose a name. Call it inspiration. "I've got one." ****

"Clare." I smile. "How about 'Clare'?" Her green eyes turn into saucers and she starts to gesticulate in earnest, struggling to speak. "What?" I couldn't easily believe my substitute was the real thing, but judging by this reaction... "That's not your real name, is it?" ****

She nods empathetically.****

"Really? Good." I am pleased. "It is the name of a goddess of love who was exquisitely pure. Her twin was Teresa," I reveal, "And that's my name." More than inspiration then. Perhaps fate? Now I am the one entertaining silly notions. "Maybe my parents had her in mind when they named me. It must mean our parents did love us." I am able to say this without laughing afterward, without neatly dipping each word in bitter sarcasm. This time... I am sincere.****

Although I was betrayed, I can still remember better times. Times when I was a human girl myself, who lived a normal life. At least for a while.****

Yet, I am not sentimental enough to permit this girl to cry for her own losses. My words draw out the tears; the fat drops crest over her dusky lashes and splash down her cheeks. She sniffs, hard, reigning them back, and her grief hardens in her throat like a lump.****

"Stop crying," I smile softly, "Your parents' love will live on through your name."****

There is no use looking back. We cannot live in the past. Whether we consent to it or fight it, time will move us forward anyway. If this girl can learn that much, and still hold her head up without tears smearing her cheeks, she will live a life tenfold better.****

"Now come on... Clare."****

I lead. She follows. Neither of us notice the third shadow. But it follows in our steps, devoted and fueled by a need for revenge...**  
**

**TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

scene XIV, part III

_end_


	15. Teresa of the Faint Smile IV

**TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

Scene XV, Part IV

Clare seems attuned to my every movement; when I halt to stare out over the ridge to the mountains beyond, she notices right away.

"Hey, Clare. Come take a look at this."

Her soft footfalls are hurried, as though she anticipates danger. Certainly, the valleys and woodland we've been walking through are teeming with bandits and feral creatures; we've had our run-ins with them. But this girl needn't fear for anything. I am here.

She approaches the edge of the cliff and stares out. The valley drops before us before swelling amicably in rises thick with trees. For the first time in days we see bare roads winding their way up to a village. The first true mark of civilization since leaving Teo.

"That's the village of Rokut." There are not so many human settlements that I do not know their names. Not so for humans who, if not a merchant or sellsword, likely never leaves the place they are born to. "...The next town I'll be visiting." I add meaningfully. "We should reach it by tomorrow night. We'll part ways there." Clare's surprise yanks her by the chin. "Don't give me that look," I say mildly, "You'll be happier there than with me."

The girl can shake her head until her common sense rattles out, but facts are facts. A smile traces my lips as I watch her violently toss her head back and forth in flutters of strawberry hair. "It's true. Really. Nothing good will come from staying with me." So stubborn. "Don't worry. I won't abandon you when we get there. I'll find someone to look after you. You'll be fine."

That seems to calm her; at the least, she's stopped giving herself whiplash. I turn and proceed down our path. There is no more talking as the sun sinks below the treeline, scorching the sky red in vehement protest. But it, too, must submit to its calling.

The sharp pops of the smoking wood I have added to our campfire do not elicit even a twitch from the girl collapsed against the rocky ravine wall. Always the heavy sleeper, Clare. But this time she has cried herself to sleep.

How strange. She was crying about parting with the likes of me. I feel myself smiling as I gaze through thin tendrils of blue smoke, at the shadows jumping around her. Whomever she ends up with, it'll be better than being with me. At least she'll get to live like a normal human being. I can't speak for other warriors, and I don't envy the life I had to leave behind, but... for all the weaknesses and failings of human beings, you must respect their passion.

"Well..." I sigh, kneeling up and getting to my feet, that's enough musing. I turn my back to the flames. My cape and armor lay in a heap nearby, beside my blade. The sword unceremoniously rests in the dirt. I look at it, contemplating its use.

I walk away from it.

I keep walking. My bare feet stir fallen leaves. I make no effort to conceal my footsteps. The glow of the campfire is swallowed up by the trees. The branches high above me have coalesced into a heavy gloom. I stop and stand a pale specter in my pant and longsleeve. I am visible against the night, unmistakable.

"So... what do you want?" I know that he can see me clearly. If he ever thought he has been hidden from me, he chooses to come forward now. I hear strangled wheezing behind me and hard boots dragging along the dirt.

"Why... I'm gonna..." The words he pants are flecked with bile and the spit that flows down his chin. "I'm gonna..." I shift my gaze toward him, my disgust neatly tucked behind impassive silver eyes. Rig, was it? I note the bandages wrapping the stump where the man's hand had formally been is dripping with putrid blood. The festering smell of it crawls up my nose.

"I sensed you following us," I state; "You should have taken care of your arm. It wouldn't have become infected. If you want revenge for your hand, forget it. There's no way you can kill me." The words hold no emotion for me; arrogance belongs to humans and fools. "If you attack," I further, "I'll fight back, regardless of the rules." I resist thinking of the skinny little girl in my care.

The sounds that garble inside the man's throat must be laughter but I should think the death throes of a wounded animal would be more forgiving on the ear. This is a vulgar noise, matching the deranged look in his wide, bloodshot eyes.

"Heh heh... I know that," Saliva dribbles over his lips while he pants for breath. "It's not your life I'm after."

I almost frown. "Then what?"

He is upon me so quickly that I am genuinely taken aback. His speed belies his bedraggled posture but it is likely that he spent his reserves to gain this one advantage. "I'm going to make you pay!" He shrieks, "I'll make you live to regret what you did." The savagery ratcheting his face would is more than familiar for me; ironic, that this is a monster I cannot wipe from existence.

I stare up at him. "Don't you get it? You can't..."

I feel his pull before I hear the fabric shred into pieces. The cloth in Rig's hand is cast off, to swirl away into the darkness. My mouth closes and my eyes round in a moment's surprise.

"I don't care!" He leans back, cackling. "I'll make you suffer! You'll wish you'd never been born!"

Oh? Do I really need him for that? But I understand now.

"Fine." I close my eyes. "I don't care." Humans... Are we really fighting to protect creatures like _this_?

His hand reaches for me again. I can feel the rough nature of his skin, crusted with dirt and blood. He uses those fingers to further spread apart the flayed pieces of my brigandine, exposing my bare flesh. "That face of yours," He seethes with salacious malevolence, "drove me mad from the start. And those eyes filled with disgust. I'll see that doll face of yours twisted in pain."

His grip on me stiffens sharply as his promises come to an abrupt stop. I open my eyes and see fresh blood slipping down the side of his nose to puddle into the corner of his mouth.

"Wha...?" Rig is too shocked to feel the pain Clare has administered with that long stick in her hands. As he rises off from me and climbs to his feet, I see her perfectly. She is scared but also... angry?  
She does not back down from Rig's approach, only tightens her grip on the stick.

She may as well be holding a flower. Clare can not retain her hold when Rig smacks her, cuffing her across the mouth with no less ferocity than he was about to show me. Adrenalin and fury is pumping through him, fueling every sharp, brutal kick to the girl's slight body. "Don't get smart with me!" His screaming rakes at her, dashing the sounds of his boot burying itself in her stomach. "You miserable little..." Clare's cries are little more than the bleats of a lamb. "I ought to kill you right here!"

I do not abide more. The clear ring of a steel blade running free of its sheath routes this madness. Rig pauses, perhaps sensing that the weight of the shortsword at his hip is no longer reassuringly there. And he is right. It is in my hand now.

"What do you think you're doing with my sword?" His misplaced confidence keeps the fervor in his eyes bright. "If you kill me, your comrades will come for your head! It's an ironclad rule! Don't you get it?"

"You seem to be misinformed," I respond icily. "Let me explain. Even if it's a rule... whether or not I follow it is up to me." He stares into my fathomless eyes. Soulless eyes. "Whether I obey the rule or break it and get killed by my comrades... _is my choice_." He can't pull himself away. His sweat goes cold and he shivers.

"Now go! Unless you want me to lop off your head."

When the man has shambled back into the dark folds of the forest, I toss his blade away from me. I look off, ruminant. "It's your own fault." I sense her eyes on me. "I didn't give a damn, but you had to stick your nose in. You brought it on yourself."

When I turn to her, Clare's head is bowed in chastisement. Silly girl. I extend my hand. She stares up at me. "Can you stand, Clare?" She clenches her jaw, draining the color from the fresh bruise by her mouth. Tears well up anyway. When she throws herself into my arms, the force almost staggers me. "Hey," I soothe, paying no mind to the dig of her hands into my back as she hugs me tight. "What's this?"

And I could swear that she answers.

"Duh... it hur..."

I blink, disbelieving.

She pulls her face away from my chest where she had smothered the words. "Doesn't it... Doesn't it hurt?" _Words_. "Doesn't it hurt?"

I finally hear what she is saying and it stuns me. "C-Clare... You spoke."

But it seems now that it's my words that don't reach her. She is sobbing, holding the ravaged sides of my uniform in her fists, looking on my ruinous body. The very secret of warrior power. "It hurt, didn't it? It must still hurt. So... So..."

I begin to understand. "Oh. That's why you... It's all right. It doesn't hurt. It just looks that way." My detached, if calm, tone does not placate her grief. She remains latched, tears ever flowing.

"From the moment I first saw you, you've looked so sad. Your face shows so much pain."

Her words root me.

"Your eyes are like mine. You looked so sad, so hurt, so lonely... as if you couldn't stand it. So... So I..." Her voice cracks, a hundred fractures for a hundred tears I may never fully understand. But that day, in Teo, when this broken child braved everything just to touch me. I remember. But I never would have thought...

The one being comforted... was me?

I can't move. I can't breathe.

_The yoma stole everything you cherished. The people you trusted most betrayed you and cast you out. You've lost all reason to live and now roam from place to place. And you carry the same pain and heartache. _

_With your small, trembling body... you're clinging with all your might to someone who shares the same wounds as yourself._

_And all because... this is the one thing you wanted most for yourself_.

I can feel it breaking inside me. Her every smile, a crack. Her every tear, another piece. And now it's all been swept away. Our world is one and the same. I know this now, can feel the raw truth of it on my own cheeks.

We sink to the ground, caught up in each others embrace.

_This little girl, who's not even half my size... taught me that tears can flow even from these silver eyes._

**TERESA OF THE FAINT SMILE**

Scene XV, Part IV

_end_


End file.
